“I want to be awake for this,” she says, smiling. I smile back, sadly, because she doesn’t understand, and I don’t have the heart to explain. It’s just the two of us in the room, a sterile box with blank walls—empty canvas. Suddenly I can see her fingers, smudged with paint, holding some picture she made me for a past birthday—an explosion of colors bleeding into the grooves of her fingerprints, underneath her fingernails, staining her skin like nebulae against universe. She looks at me with tired eyes and, for a moment, her smile falters. “Don’t let me fall asleep,” she says. She’s so small beneath the covers with only her thin arm resting above them, stuck and riddled with needles and tubes. It’s hard to look at her, to see her so diminished, but I can’t bring myself to leave her. “But sleep is good for you,” I say, sitting on the edge of her bed. She gives me a look, a quizzical, almost exasperated expression—a ghost of her former self shining through. “You know what I mean,” she says, her voice soft. I open my mouth to tell her I don’t, not really, but I stop myself. “What’s this?” I say instead. She glances at me. “You said you want to be awake for ‘this.’ What is it?” She turns away again, dark eyes out the window where a patch of blue sky and the tips of a tree can be seen. “This,” she says, and then to me, “and you. The sky and the trees. Your voice. Mommy and Daddy. All of this. I’d paint it if I could, to remember, but….” I wait for her to finish, and when she doesn’t, I say, “We’ll all be here when you wake up. You can take a nap—the doctor says you should.” She turns away from me again, back to the window where a hummingbird, small and erratic, flies by. I see her mouth twitch—a small smile, bright eyes, and I want to look away. We fall into silence and I want to break it, but something tells me not to—tells me to let her have this moment. I hear footsteps behind me, turn my head, and see the nurse standing in the doorway with a tray in her arms. She smiles at me, but I don’t return it. “Alright, little lady, you ready for this?” My sister grimaces as the nurse comes forward, places the tray beside her bed. She sits up as the nurse readies the syringe and I turn my face to wall. I hear an intake of breath and my sister’s soft voice speaking in unison with the nurse: “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…” When they reach twenty, the nurse says loudly, “Alright! You did wonderfully, sweetie. How do you feel?” “I’m all right,” my sister says, but she sounds weak, as if she’s had all the wind knocked out of her. “Lie back,” the nurse says. I turn and see her gently pushing my sister back against the pillows. Her face is pale and ashen and I think stupidly of ghosts. As the nurse bustles past me, she tells me my parents will be back soon and to keep talking to her. “It helps so much,” she says, her hand on my shoulder. Before I can reply, she’s gone, and my eyes rest on my sister—eyes closed, lying so still. I step forward and call her name. She turns, ever so slightly in the direction of my voice, eyes fluttering. I call her again, and then again, and again until her eyes are fully opened. Unfocused, she looks at me and I, afraid to touch her, try to smile. “Wake up,” I say. “You told me to keep you awake.” She turns her head again. “No,” in a whisper. “Just don’t let me fall asleep.” I frown at her and I can feel my eyes burning. “But—,” “Don’t let me fall asleep,” she says again, closing her eyes, head sinking into pillow, and I finally understand what I thought she didn’t. ✱✱✱ Kathryn H. Ross is a writer from Southern California. Her work has previously appeared in or is forthcoming on Across the Margin, Flash Fiction Magazine, and Whale Road Review. She also enjoys pastel finger painting and just about every movie Daniel Radcliffe appears in. You can keep up with her at speakthewritelanguage.com, as well as on Twitter @storytellerkath.
i am writing this in my sleep / i am finding myself again even though my roots are charred / i lack roots even though the farmer told me to hold onto them / i was too busy planting other people’s gardens / to look after my own / i buy a bottle of water / i am thirsty / i buy five bottles of water / i am drowning yet it is not enough / enough to stop my craving / caving into pressure in my head / i am not enough enough enough / for myself / i wish i was a tall building people walked through / in and out in and out / as long as they promised to return / an apartment complex / may be / my chest has been cut open for a long time / now / and i cannot stitch myself back together nor would i / want to / i want to live on the moon / naked / i want to stop returning text messages / i want to stop seeking validation / LOVE ME / i can not scream loud enough / my throat is bleeding / LOVE ME / i have climbed higher mountains than this / in order to request smaller tasks / i remember sitting on city steps / waiting for you to come / i am forever waiting / for someone / usually it is myself / i want to hold myself at eleven / it is okay to cry / allow yourself to cry / please cry / it is not a lack of strength / it is beautiful to be vulnerable / but everyone else is crying / everyone else needs comforting / need a joke / need a smile / you cannot be everyone’s light / you cannot be the sun / you will only mask your own shadow / he is not coming back / he is not coming back / did he touch you / did he touch you / ? / you do not understand words like that / you do understand that everyone is crying / let yourself cry / mourn / exhaust / exist / be / can you talk less / be less / be more of this / less of that / why are you crying / sorry i didn’t mean to make you cry / please stop crying / i just don’t know why you think this / feel this / are this / why are you talking to him / her / him / her / he has feelings for you / she has feelings for you / a threat / a threat / CODE RED / why are you crying / why are you like this / i am only doing this because i love you / i want to be with you / you are the best person i know / you love me so well / so well / so well / why are you crying / do you ever stop crying / my voice is loud / is yelling / is screaming / to love you louder / i love you out loud / i want the whole world to know it / why do you want me to touch you / need me to touch you / you have changed / i am not happy / why did you change / you were so great before / you used to be more / now you are less / i didn’t want this / i wanted that / she is better / you are nothing / you were never anything / you have a 70′s playboy / bush / it’s hot / i’m not usually into that / we don’t have to have sex / i just need a bed / i just need your bed / let me kiss your neck / i haven’t touched a woman in months / you are a woman / you are beautiful / don’t worry / i won’t hurt you / i don’t bite / why do you seem so afraid of / me / go to sleep / i’m sorry / i could not control myself / why aren’t you moving / why did you let me into your room / if you did not want / this / i’ll see you later / at the club / ? / i am too much / i have become one with / emotion / i am changing / constantly / rapidly / cycling through / myself / am i not enough for myself / am i not enough for anyone / or / too much for anyone / please love me / i am sorry / i have been touched too many times / i have been felt too many times / yet still not enough / i am not crying / i am just trying to / understand / why i need / to be burnt down / a forest in need of / renewal / please hold me / because i am / so alone / here / and there / and everywhere / please love me / LOVE ME / i cannot / do not / love myself / i am in a rapid race / to self love / self discovery / but first you must give me fifty / reasons why i am / worth loving / i have forgotten / ✱✱✱
“I would describe my art as an idea of emotion that I try to explain with forms, shapes and colors that I represent the best way I can in a well-defined portion of space and ongoing research. I’m very interested in peoples lives, body movements, feelings, face expression, hands, ideas of two half that are complement. all this fascinates me and I try to bring my artistic research on a conceptual level as well as aesthetic.” Andy McFly is the art name of Simona Iamonte, a 25 year old woman based in Torino, Italy. With an education in painting, she has worked as an illustrator/artist for nearly three years. She designs album covers, poetry books and venue posters in Torino and Milano. Watercolor, paper, oil paints, pencils, pens, markers and analogue cameras are her usual instruments, with a preference for paper collage and watercolor painting. She continues to work on her own projects, as well as to collaborate with local bands and individuals. You can find her on Facebook, Instagram and Behance.
there are voids between my regressions of you. only feelings linger still heavy & haunting taking me back, piecing missing parts of the whole: i bled at ten the first time, my breasts ripened at twelve. exploring my sex, i dreamt of mature men inside me, i never dreamt of you. you eyed me from my pubescence. i didn’t know you claimed me as your lolita even then, even if i didn’t want you. you touched me anyways while i had no consent, nor could i separate a simple touch from yours. did you think me stupid? there were witnesses watching. i ever wonder, could they tell? & if they did, why shrug it off? complicated life is not convenient-- my excuse for years. tell me, did she ever sense her gut feeling? when trouble hailed your paradise. when you sealed your lips soiling mine making yourself whole for the night. did she? still i feel your putrid spit i can’t spit out years after. i vowed to never be alone with you, even in company. i feared you, convulsing from within. more so, complicated life was not convenient for us. i hushed my sorrow back to sleep. ✱✱✱
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And then at times the dips of our marriage are no different than the falling into love in Richmond Park before we started home, and I wrote every day until the motion of the ship made me certain that for every berth going out, new souls put in, spit from foam. If I could read Greek or understand the errand of the cardinal we watch for with coffee in our hands, I could make poetry on the tips of fence spears where he stops and the fire of you would go urgently from land to land. ✱✱✱ Charles Bane, Jr. is the author of three collections of poetry including the recent " The Ends Of The Earth: Collected Poems ( Transcendent Zero Press, 2015 ) and "The Ascent Of Feminist Poetry", as well as "I Meet Geronimo And Other Stories" ( Avignon Press, 2015) and " Three Seasons: Writing Donald Hall ( Collection of the Houghton Library, Harvard University). He created and contributes to The Meaning Of Poetry Series for The Gutenberg Project.. You can find him at http://charlesbanejr.com/.
we asked zoe to tell us a bit about herself and her influences. we are captivated by depictions of youth, both fragile and resilient, as well as airs of immediacy and nostalgia in her work. here is what she had to say: photography is one of my passions because i love the power of visual media and emotion. i shoot a mix of film and digital. for film, i shoot on my canon AE-1 (currently broken) and what is available in my film photography class. for digital, i recently purchased a Sony a7ii. it is a stunning camera that has really allowed me to step up my low-light photography work. i live in marin county, california. it is important to acknowledge the negative and positive influences of my home. i'm grateful to have grown up in this safe and beautiful city, surrounded by a variety of exciting locations. there are also flaws here that have influenced me as an artist and as a person. i'm most influenced by marin's culture of complaining. it has subconsciously encouraged me to see beauty and blessings all around me. i'd say that most of my photography has a mood of enchantment. maybe this is more true for me than my viewers, since i'm photographing and sharing what i'm enchanted by. my photography is driven by emotion. i do not rely on the element of composition to photograph. sure, i compose my shots, but always try to emphasize an emotion. emotion is the truth of a moment. i primarily photography people. human consciousness, and how people behave, feel and express emotion really fascinates me. as i move forward, i hope to progress as a lifestyle photographer and to keep working with all different beautiful people. i want to empower everyone, especially to recognize beauty that has been marginalized or repelled for so long. i also want to do some work as a photojournalist. i don't believe in relying on art to change the world. i hope to be an activist for several issues and occasionally use photography as a weapon alongside whatever else I'm doing to facilitate change. ✱✱✱ zoe is a passion enthusiast, who lives by and through hers. she encourages others to do the same. you can find her on instagram @zoathexplora.
i have this story a memory i was a child, a baby really at the fabric's hem of consciousness and awareness life and memories of life i was three, maybe four my father the man with the dimples in his skin beer on his breath a glint in his gaze one eye had a birthmark on the iris like a punched out hole piece of paper took a shining to his ocular i remember we were flying the road signs were German and the streets, cobble i wore no seatbelt i wore no helmet we were on his motorcycle and we were flying i was three, maybe four my father, the drinker my father, the profane the loud talker so you'd recognize that he could always increase the volume he drove his baby girl around on his Harley in Heidelberg and dared anyone to say anything my mom got real good at biting her tongue i was a child i have this memory ✱✱✱
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