Waiting in Line with You The back of your head, a little salt and pepper I’m waiting to run my hands through— I’m close enough to catch your rosemary shampoo, my eye tracing your shirt collar, the line moving, my hands waiting to move, to follow the curve of your neck. Amanda Laughtland … Read more
Waterfront *** Head slightly down, looking up to women who show more *** confidence to look other women in the eye, I know we’re *** all of us normal, strolling the length of the pier, ignoring *** fish guts in metal sinks, blood stains on the concrete
Girls’ Night Out *** Maybe she comes on a little strong, above the hum of the club when she calls *** them all darling. How does she undress them with so much clothing between them, without *** so much as a fumble at the catch of a brassiere?
Seventeen *** I’ve never — not even boys my age. Why not *** forget it — I’d rather visit museums, the hush *** of look but don’t touch, the docent’s shoulders *** in her dark suit, her calves behind velvet ropes.
Experience *** Hands on my shoulders, mouth close to mine. My hands shook, rings clattering against my belt buckle. Cold air *** on my back, the sound of a button hitting the floor. I knew I was trembling, afraid I’d also fall down and roll, *** lost forever under the refrigerator. *** About the Author … Read more
