Menu Switch

Where I Go When I’ve Been Going Away

By Alrisha Shea From Issue No. 5

I’m drawing chalk outlines

onto the sidewalk for practice.

Black asphalt rivers made

for me, I cup my hands and

slurp tar greedily before it trickles

through my fingers but I don’t swallow,

I never swallow, I puff up my

cheeks and spit it back

into the river to watch

how the ripples form

I’m flipping on my cassette

deck of elevator music now,

dragging my fingers through

the pitch and picking it from

my skin like Elmer’s glue. Here’s

to hoping my skin peels with

it, now here’s to hoping I’ll

make my skin-picking

worthwhile. Here’s to seeing

how my scalp heals after I tear

out the black bubblegum I’ve

worked into it. Fuck the cassettes,

I’ll chew on their black tape. My

god, am I ever easy to please. I’m

gonna dip my ankles in for a bit,

to see how the scars will form

this time around. I’m gonna dip

my head in and blow bubbles ‘til

they’re big enough to crawl into. I’m

gonna scumble my skin into

millennial pink when the scabbing’s

all said and done. The least I can

do is aestheticize the

mess I’ve made.

About Alrisha Shea More From Issue No. 5