by Centaur Lit | Oct 24, 2024 | Fall 2024
Than an ending. That’s what Sarah wants. She wants to stare into Jimmy Taylor’s dark blue dark blues and see something other than the kind of midnight that doesn’t even have a fleck of the moon. She wants something other than one less text, than another, and seeing...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 24, 2024 | Fall 2024
My son begged me not to drown the bee in the swimming pool. Offered to pluck the creature from the stretched strap of my swimsuit, where it clung mere inches from my neck. My naked, defenseless neck—an eyeball without a lid. After, I scooped the bee from the water. It...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 24, 2024 | Fall 2024
The bear-woman came to the crematorium and asked me about her lover, a bear-man who had come in the night before and was heaved up onto the Corian slab, his naked body covered with wiry fur, a mass of reddish brown, which we sheared off and hung up to dry, having an...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 24, 2024 | Fall 2024
We create our own goddesses, me and sister. The chessboard welcomes our myths. Our figures of ruin and prayer. Mother teaches us papier-mâché; our hands are sticky newsprint, joyful glops of wet flour. Our goddesses muck about, pondering names and colors. We make our...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 24, 2024 | Fall 2024
A sparrow will cock its head and stare at you with thoughtful eyes as you go on about the stove repair guy with his iPad, high billing rate, firm ass and attitude. Or the City’s new plan to reroute the garbage trucks so they thunder under your bedroom window at three...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 24, 2024 | Fall 2024
My mother had vinegar running through her veins. She passed it down to me, my brother, gave us plates of lumpia to drench in garlic vinegar sauce, pour it into the crevices and folds of rice wrappers, listen to it sizzle. The vinegar seeped out of our house,...