Crawling through summer doors, ass to wind, knees bleeding, knowing
there are no such things
as carpet, as grass, as kind hands
all softness gone
only scraping and
Take that glass of water.
Take that adrenaline hypodermic.
Take that propane heater.
Take that pocket breath, so promising, so small, sandwiched between water and ceiling.
Breathe in. Make it count.
Take any last things: matches, dry socks, your mother’s voice.
I will lie on my back in the sun while they fester me
I will hoard all last things
until the summer doors close
until they become mine
until we are all even
xTx is a writer living in Southern California. She has been published in places like PANK, Hobart, Smokelong, Monkeybicycle, Storyglossia, >Kill Author and Wigleaf. Her new story collection, Normally Special, is available from Tiny Hardcore Press. She says nothing at www.notimetosayit.com
Return to July 2012 Edition