“the only identifier” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday August 7, 2019
10:24
5 minutes
Orange Socks
Kate LeDew

  1. Make a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. Cut it in half, diagonally. Leave it on the plate for a few hours. You aren’t hungry. Haven’t been for almost two weeks. Funny how appetite becomes the barometer for feelings, at least in your family.

  2. Find the sandwich, only a bite taken. The contents have seeped into the bread. The bread it turning hard. Take another bite.

  3. Phone rings and you ignore it. You can’t bear to put something on your voice, the connective tissue to the truth. You would have to if you answered, no matter who it was, let alone Miranda.

  4. You open up the sandwich and run your finger through the jam. You lick your finger. You say a small prayer to the strawberry seeds.

“your desired starting point”by Julia on her patio

Thursday June 21, 2018
8:55pm
5 minutes
audacity.com

Vision
Board
On
The
Wall
And
Plan
To
Look
At
It
Every
Damn
Day
That’s
A
Good
First
Step
A
Good
First
Thought
And
It
All
Seems
Doable
Then
Step
By
Step
Day
By
Day
Prayer
By
Please
Promise
By
Promise

I look at my wall, blank space and burning a hole where the good ideas are supposed to live

Remember something belongs here. Remember you said you would do something in the shape of this wall space.

Today

I

Made

A

Lot

Of

Grand

Mistakes

And

Now

I

Will

Never

Make

Them

Again

I

Will

Give

Thanks

Instead

Of

Being

A

Martyr

When

The

Bus

Is

Late

When

I

Go

The

Wrong

Way

When

I

Spend

The

Money

Step

One

Is

Acknowledging

It

Step

Two

Is

“pleasures of science.” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday, September 10, 2013
12:30am
5 minutes
The Norton Anthology of English literature

He’s all like “So, uh, I’m, uh, performing at this open mic and uh, do you, uh, like, wanna come?” And I basically lost it from here to next Sunday! I was like, “NO I DON’T WANT TO GO TO YOUR OPEN MIC! NO THANK YOU!” I stormed off, out the door, slammed the thing behind me, only to realize that I’d forgotten my sweater on the friggen barstool. I had to go back in there! He was smiling, holding my sweater like it was a dirty dishcloth and was like, chuckling. Like, completely chuckling. GOD! I was like, “What’s so funny?” And he was like, “You’re so dramatic. It’s cute.” Instead of losing it again I just said, “Thank you,” grabbed my sweater and left. So, I get home and there’s Isabel, waiting on the steps. “Dan needs to talk to you,” she said, looking all concerned, all, like, worried. “I JUST friggen saw him!” I said. She looked so confused. She looked like how we all look in Calculus, you know? And I was like, “What does he want?” “His Dad died,” said Isabel, looking at me like I was the asshole.