When We Pose for Photos by Alex Simand
I can feel your skin
strip away from me—
I’ll be right back—
as you slip in to foreign bodies,
happier bodies, bodies
unburdened by empty pantries,
who forgot to put the lid down,
a suit of armor, brilliant chinks,
glittering creases, clouds parting,
and when you smile I hold you
like a falcon, hand outstretched,
terror drips,
a burning ember I toss
from hand to tongue,
until pop! goes the flash!
the armor, the ember, the glitter
all pool around your feet
and you kick them off
like a pair of unwanted panties.
Alex Simand writes nonfiction and poetry. He is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Antioch University Los Angeles and moonlights as an editor for both Lunch Ticket and Prague Revue. His work has appeared in such publications as Ash & Bones, Mud Season Revue, and Red Fez.
spider up her thigh in the dimly lit room
held down, stared down
embers of the abyss snap around her
My father sexually abused me.
When I got married,
I hyphenated my name.
No one questioned it at the time.
But in the middle of my parents’ late divorce,
everyone wants to know about names.
i was depressed,
and i wanted
to take a
walk;
you said you'd join me—
didn't mean i wanted
netflix and chill,
it happened before words came
to tell me how to feel about it
newly connected neurons torn apart
or perverted—
forever firing blanks into the microbiological air
As a child
The lessons taught
Can bring a pain never thought.
The lessons on trust
And heartache
Sear the soul.
