Scene: 12

Scene: 12 by Beth Cortez-Neavel Mom doesn’t know I know what it tastes like now. It tastes forbidden. It tastes exciting. It tastes like good dreams. She couldn’t sleep, she said. She doesn’t normally drink before bedtime. She doesn’t normally drink those funny adult-smelling drinks anyway. But, I am twelve and it tastes so smooth; the […]

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Like Chocolate-Ice-Cream-and-Banana-Split-Sundaes

They are falling like onion rings and cheeseburgers. They are falling like oatmeal and orange juice. They are falling like roti and vindaloo. Like eggrolls and hot and sour soup. They are falling in love like chocolate-ice-cream-and-banana-split sundaes. They are falling like waterfalls and paint thinner, like apples and appaloosas.

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Powder

The night is warm and in this city you can see the stars from the broken sidewalks and rutted tar. I stand on my wooden porch, the dirty gray paint flaky underfoot as my feet shift of their own accord; I cannot stand still. Every hair stands on end in its follicle. The slightest movement of a leaf on the ground next to me causes me to startle, intensely amazed at the ability for the breeze to pick it up and move it a half-centimeter after spiraling through the thick, end-of-summer night air as if it were nothing.

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It’s Almost Time for Dinner

It’s Almost Time for Dinner By Beth Cortez-Neavel I Sometimes you can sit in a graying hanging-basket swing (so weathered by the years on St. Lawrence), on an island with             pine trees so dense and humming birds so small and             fast outside of the screened-in             porch windows. And they are gone to […]

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