07:15 Fast Local by Hema Nataraju
At this time, the middle-aged commuter should be on the 07:15 fast local train. Instead, he’s lying face down on the road outside the station.
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I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.
At this time, the middle-aged commuter should be on the 07:15 fast local train. Instead, he’s lying face down on the road outside the station.
Aunt Mary's breasts rest on her thighs like stacked produce.
The sky blue eyes were closed, hiding ninety years of vehemence.
I could string myself together with the twine of nature and poetry.
Our school gradually descended into a subtle chaos no one knew how to handle because the students technically did nothing wrong.