#1: Apply ice packs to the bruise.
We existed within an infinite number of universes, he and I. You do, too. In these other universes, there are other yous doing other things. In one, you stand and breathe; in another, you sit and blink. In another, you stand on your hands, and you blink twice as fast and three times as often. Maybe, maybe not. […]
The dream fills the room when we unpack — the parts — the makings of our soon-to-be kitchen table.I remember reading that IKEA furniture in particular is more self-gratifying than the non-IKEA do-it-yourself-put-it-together furniture because of the self-assembly required. […]
Leave the screams, the unspoken fights — / “I can’t take it all, I ain’t gonna take it all, I don’t want none of it, I just want” — / to roll naked across a gravel road while the dust kicks up and the blood is drawn / like a goddamned roadmap across ass and knees and chest. […]
Sometimes, when she’s bored,
she goes into the garden, covers herself
with earth and pretends that she is a carrot. […]
We drive down blackjack road, thin and winding, hemmed by the woven trunks of trees and a sheer drop.
“It’s a beautiful town,” he says. “All these trees. The hills. The view.”
“I wonder if that’s why Nate and Matt picked it.”
No house lights. No streetlights. Only one working headlight on Fat Van.
(And it’s quiet. When was the last time we were anywhere quiet?) […]
wearing them wrong!
You’re wearing the wrong
size the wrong way. For starters,
the band, not the straps, provides
primary support. For second, as any
mammographer knows, your breast tissue
extends halfway under your armpit, and as
the nice lady at La Petite Coquette in Union
Square will tell you, all that should be in your bra.
Grab the underwire under your arm with your near-
est hand while, with the other inside the cup (“May
I?”), pull your breast forward (NOT up!) and then (la
coup de grâce) tug gently on the outer cup edge to
situate. “And you’re in,” she affirms. “Your tits
should salute.” Well, hello there. A swell of
cleavage where never there was. I’m harn-
essed and ready to battle the city streets.
(If you’re now spilling out, go up a
cup size.) But rather than flaunt
my rank among the select few
with salutatory boobs, I here-
by bequeath this sacred
knowledge to you. And for
the record, underwires do
not cause breast cancer. […]
So I’m like eight, and my hair is slicked with Vitalis, and I’m riding in the back seat of our old Ford station wagon, surrounded by my brothers and my sister, my parents up front, my old man smoking Tareytons. He’s rolled the windows up tight to seal in the goodness like Tupperware, and we’re rolling down the Mass Pike to GG’s funeral. […]
hibernates inside his heart
for more than a month before
cautiously emerging on a bitterly
cold January evening as he rests
his forehead against the upstairs
bedroom window & watches
those first hesitant snowflakes […]
By Kathryn B. Jackson Your intuition might fail you. Your sniffing-dog sense for the perils of men — your extrasensory radar for the false love of fathers in particular, having known your own father’s false love — you could, at any instant, go noseblind, and get it wrong. There is always room for your human […]
Hot Tin Roof Reading Java House (211½ E. Washington St.) — Saturday, Oct. 8 at 4 p.m. Seventh Annual Roast of Iowa City Trumpet Blossom Cafe — Sunday, Oct. 9 at 4 p.m. Little Village is embracing the City of Literature, and we want you to join us! Our two annual Iowa City Book Festival […]
By Akwi Nji My family is a family of women. Men were there; biology tells us they must have been. And they weren’t lazy. They were farmers and college professors, business owners. But, in the snapshots of my memory, they are all sitting on sofas while the women flutter through kitchens, sift through backpacks to […]