No One Asks the Harpy
Erin Lynch
My friend told me, it’s just about you needing control. I did not respond when she said this. Considering nothing is just about anything.
My friend told me, it’s just about you needing control. I did not respond when she said this. Considering nothing is just about anything.
Please God forgive me. Please God forgive me.
While the atmosphere pumps steroids into hurricanes, let me feel the Ecuadorian sun on my face.
“Hide the Tzahal patch,” he warned before seeing me off.
My homework, which I assigned to myself, the way kids do sometimes, consisted of hobbling around my room in a witch hat, practicing spells on my shoes.
If I had to take a shit that meant I had to go downstairs. I didn’t have a specific aversion to leaving the attic— I just never felt like getting out of bed. Also, the second floor toilet got clogged
In my favorite bookstore in a city where I no longer live, there’s a sign for sale that says: when in doubt, turn left. I don’t remember the name of the gym where I spent my adolescence, but I could
In the spring of 1989 an asteroid the size of the Empire State Building crossed Earth’s orbit.
It happened at a small party I’d planned at a nightclub in the meatpacking district.
From The Happiest Place On Earth
The door is open, I said, just come in.
Liz and I sit up with a start.
An envelope with my name on it, xoxo.
We met in the pathology suite ––me the medical student––you the corpse.
The first thing I realized was that my legs weren’t broken.
I flipped on the lights, turned up the furnace, and cranked some Stevie Wonder.
Ours was a world that devised its own sense.
There was still nailpolish on her toes and fingers.
“You’re crafty and wise,” the quiz’s benevolent gods tell me.
Is this new relationship self-sabotage in disguise, or is it the cure?
Garielle's longest, most peculiar, most particularized book. A sure-to-be collector's item. Not be be missed!