Volume 9 Number 2

Of Flash, Queer, and the Myths of a Cave

Flash fiction reminds me of my childhood fascination with paleontology and archeology. I loved how, from just a chip of stone or a few improbable…

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Instead

My mother never tells me about the morning I was born, only about the snowstorm—large and heavy and difficult to drive through—instead she teaches me…

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We Mistook This for the Beginning of Something

With her I learned of the omentum. There is a greater and a lesser, and we held hands while looking at both. There is an…

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Do Not Touch

For me it ends like this: with someone else’s vibrator, on someone else’s sheets. But it doesn’t start there. It starts the day I first…

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In This Way, We Fall in Love

I have a sexual fantasy in which I am fucked by all of the white men who have ever said something to me that I…

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Julio Bodega

Julio asks me out every time I come alone to the BP where he works. Julio stands behind the counter—bling belt buckle, goatee, and gelled…

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Mary Lou Retton at 46

In Mary Lou Retton’s garage are five unopened cases of Wheaties with her face on them—her fists raised in triumph—and a folder of signed pictures…

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#WCW

Having just discovered William Carlos Williams’s writing, loving most-to-all of it, defying older brother and PhD candidate who says WCW is kind of old news…

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The Lineup

My father, working as a prison guard, was often summoned to stand in the lineups when they didn’t have enough people. Regardless of how innocent…

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The Headstone

I couldn’t resist the deal. Headstones for sale. Going out of business. Minor flaws. All sales final. “What better way to express the transitoriness of…

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