by Meg Pokrass
He opens his legs, and I sit up against him like a wall while he warms my ear with those piano fingers curling over. I try not to dwell on my mother's breast and how they will take it off. I let my mind do things and then I stop it from happening but it happens.
He lives in dreams with me but he wants that to end. This feels like a scene in a movie which comes somewhere in the middle, when the popcorn tastes not so perfect.
He hates coming home to this, he says, he's always known how the town cancers and folds.
I'll follow him into a deep blue anything.
All rights reserved.
in "Damn Sure Right" (Press 53)
Inspired by the story "Flying" by Jeff Landon.. http://blipmagazine.net/archive-4/2010-weekly/jeff-landon/ (We republished "Flying" with permission from the author at BLIP. Originally Landon's piece "Flying" appeared in Quick Fiction)
"Sit In Here" at this time is not yet published anywhere but Fictionaut.