Ashore by Abby Manzella
There was no explosion, no note, no shoot out, just a silence where there had so recently been a girl.
Recently Published
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.
There was no explosion, no note, no shoot out, just a silence where there had so recently been a girl.
Maybe a poet fell in love with her when she wasn’t ready, he wrote her a letter and sent her pressed flowers from his garden.
the whites of his eyes wide like he didn’t know this helpless, fat, beetle-on-its-back, version of me.
I wanted to be dizzy, to have the feeling we had after rolling down your backyard hill and landing in a leaf pile.
Every time I thought about Analise, I pictured them putting on Chapstick, in slow-motion.