Fruit, by Susan Nordmark

It was a kind of sex. For over a week the sunsets had been glaring neon from forest fires up north. It was late in the afternoon and the sky still hung ozone across the parking lot, the char suspended in the dry air scraping inside my nostrils. Every week I bring tote bags here to buy groceries.…

Piper Gourley

  Ziggy Stardust is in the Walls 1/ My mother says a prayer over my shaking body. I do not join her. God kisses the sad children, the good ones. I am not a good one. I am preparing to be swallowed. I am apart from the belly of the institution—from the clinic’s yellow bricks,…