October, 2017

Seven pieces by Vallie Lynn Watson

Starter Wife

I called her Dialtone. I felt no jealousy, nor guilt. Pity. And anger once, when she said she hated music though she’d married a drummer.

 

Fishnet Stockings

When he photographed me, I snuck one of him, promising deletion. I instead printed then hid it, deep in my lingerie drawer, visible through sheerness.

 

Using My Maiden Name

The bellhop addressed us as Mr. and Mrs., using my surname. From then on H. called me “Mrs.,” except in bed, where I was “Dr.”

 

Topless and Barefoot

Once in our room I removed all my clothes, then most of his. We didn’t dress for forty-eight hours, though he never removed his socks.

 

Two Hour Lunch

The last time I saw him I had the flu. He visited at noon, made breakfast in bed. We didn’t know we should say goodbye.

 

Broke by Noon

We crossed paths once, a few months later. I almost raised my hand as our cars passed, but then saw she was in the backseat.

 

No Room for the Blues

He circled the deflated hot air balloon, leaned down, rubbed the blue velvet-like material, and knew she’d be okay. He left the woods quietly, alone.

Vallie Lynn Watson‘s debut novel, A River So Long, was published by Luminis Books in 2012. Her Pushcart-nominated work appears in PANK, Frigg, Gargoyle, and other magazines. Watson received a PhD from the Center for Writers and teaches at UNC Wilmington.

 

Three pieces by Lori Cramer

Jaded

Spotting my ex at a ballgame, I’m catapulted into the past: youth, revelry, indiscretion. Older and wiser now, I hurry away before he can see.

 

Pearls of Wisdom

He’d claimed to be at a baseball game with his buddies, but she suspected infidelity. The proof came later: a receipt from a jewelry store.

 

Something Blue

When we met, your mood matched your uniform, blue as a Picasso, but by evening’s end I’d transformed it into a lighter and brighter hue.

 

Lori Cramer’s short prose has appeared in Blink-Ink, Boston Literary Magazine, 50-Word Stories, Ink In Thirds, andWhale Road Review, among others. https://loricramerfiction.wordpress.com. Twitter: @LCramer29.

 

Eight pieces by Annmarie Lockhart

closing night

I warned you.

But you preferred

benefits without

friendship.

He holds my hand,

brings me flowers.

It’s curtain time.

Take a bow.

Exit stage right.

 

At the Barre

Stretch away the hangovers

plié, relevé

trade fifths for eight counts

plié, relevé

forget why you wanted to forget

plié, relevé

pirouette, dizzy, but sober

 

bubbles only

lip-bruised blood blister

collarbone-grazing fingerprints

leftover from a new-moon night

fade before we remember

where we misplaced

the bouquet and the garter

 

Make the Cut

First, finger the margin,

find the edge, then slice,

clean, take some extra.

Leave nothing behind.

Stitch the incision.

Then the scar will guide you.

 

Find Me a Mannequin

I’m not asking for much:

dance partner     hot pocket     sous chef     yes man     open hand

good habit    strong jaw     teddy bear     gold locket     heart throb

 

Mooning

My skin turned green in the shade

of the blocked sun, invisible ink

spilled secrets, told the tale

of how much

I want

to

eat.

 

Skinny Dip

A minute before his head hit the rock

he told her he didn’t love her and

dove, deaf to her curses, streaking

the lake bloodshot.

 

Baguette Me Not

Bring me cream puffs, lobster tails,

cannoli. Spin me sugar that tastes like love.

Pull me passion fruit taffy. Frost my skin.

Or kiss me.

Annmarie Lockhart is the founding editor of vox poetica, an online literary salon dedicated to bringing poetry into the everyday, and Unbound Content, an independent press devoted to poetry. A lifelong resident of Englewood, NJ, she writes two miles east of the hospital where she was born. You can find her words at fine places in print and online.

 

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