The Nervous Breakdown: “Cardigan”

The Destroyer: “Sulfur Springs”




The Nervous Breakdown:  “Kiss”

Found Footage Magazine:  Eat Pavement (collection)




I was returning the sweater because it didn’t fit. I’d bought it yesterday, this tiny scrap of cobalt with flat silver buttons. It was called “The Sarah Cardigan,” and since that’s my name, I’d felt it made sense. In the boutique’s mirror, it had wrapped my arms like a hug. The buttons rested close to my frame, which was slight from a nervous summer of eating mostly toast and avocado and anticipating the move.

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I catch the fall on my lips. / Jaw opens loud into the asphalt. / First the sound of plates breaking, / cringe of blood, teeth splinter / like a shattered cabinet of china.

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Sulfur Springs

Tommy left knowing he smelled terrible. It was his deep scalp-grease and armpit scent, woven into the only shirt he wore lately—the frayed giveaway from a 5k he’d run in high school three years ago. Tommy was generally frayed: unplanned dreads, flimsy sandals, no job after quitting his gig delivering organic pizzas to the parents of his more successful friends.

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Eat Pavement

TEETHING I thought I was done, but now I have big molars pushing through my gums. The pain wells up slow, dull, with an antsy itch in the jaw hinge. I gnaw, I wait. Sharp-ridged, a new tooth rises behind my face. In college, an adult once told me calmly...

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Making Home

Butter the trees. / Dig old smells out of soil / with your hands: vanilla, / cream of wheat. / The curb is a rounded bread crust. / Make browned toast to fill / the spaces between clouds.

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