The Caller The 1920s apartment building on the corner of Geary and Hyde was abandoned. San Francisco had forgotten about it. This oversight allowed for a small group of runaway kids to squat there. Takeout menus littered the front steps. Hidden somewhere in the small yard was a plaster-of-paris gnome with a shamrock hat. A …
The plan was really a three-part process. Scope out the wild of Cherapunjee and get a feel for the landscape. Cover himself in leaves or toucan dung or something equally rugged and ambush the beast. Board a flight back home and hand Trixie the camera and say, “This is for you, now give me my last name back…”
The idea that now he could see us, hear us,
know all that we thought. Terrifying,
and too much power for a boy’s soul;
just yesterday he was a Boy Scout.
But maybe that’s the reward for feeding
your flesh to flames: clairvoyance.
Dying towns are filled with ghosts
of the people who inhabit them, not celestial bodies.
But what are we to the moon, if not celestial?
Could we be heavenly?
we both know what it means to shudder, pregnant
with delight at the blue veined banquet of belly, we
both kick husbands sprawling as we kneel between
their wives’ spread legs, agape with the slush of life
Quickly, there are rides, all with men. It never takes more than a couple of minutes for someone to stop and I am zipping through Washington, then Oregon. One man picks me up in northern California. He’s just a few years older than me. There are empty soda cans rolling around the floor of his black Camaro. Maybe he will fall in love with me. Maybe he has a life I could join.
Phillipa didn’t seem like the sort of person who kept a seagull in the freezer. I was looking for ice at three in the morning when I found it, right behind the microwavable meals and fish sticks.