Issue #3 // INSIDE VOICE // Anna Meister
Cry on the wine-stained couch, cat claw & tooth torn. Your face salted as a state road after an ice storm. Skin like paper held to light. You stay so […]
Cry on the wine-stained couch, cat claw & tooth torn. Your face salted as a state road after an ice storm. Skin like paper held to light. You stay so […]
In the station, I bought a coffee just to keep my hands warm & placed my head on your shoulder in a different way than I could before we’d slept […]
Marty, an old woman, lived next door with manicured rose bushes & breasts like bags of rice & no visitors ever & one dead son. Once, she called the weed […]
voice like crackling embers / legs that once worked / hair & fat face in old pictures on the staircase / how you are my brother there / years measured […]
History says that a woman is a womb and nothing else. History does not want to talk about a woman’s fist, her spit. History says we cannot exist outside our […]
My mother likes to garden, but not enough to call herself a gardener. There was this one day in summer—back when I could call New Jersey home—she told me she […]
The Jersey shore house, your grandparents before the bad knees, the kites, the swollen tide. You had those perfect ringlets you eventually grew out of. Your brother had won golf […]