Erysichthon

by Dahlia R.

Trigger Warning: Alcoholism/Emotional Neglect

Head pounding and bones aching beneath those bamboo sheets—

just a sip would turn the throbbing into a dull ache, 

but the shelf was right by your room. 

By that hallway and that photo of me holding you on our stone steps 

at 5 pounds and 2 ounces— 

“Day 1” it said, 

concealing the mangled bumper of the Jeep 

in the background, 

your face puffy from crying earlier

when you heard the metal crunch 

and breaking of bottles from the trunk. 

I sigh and settle for the glass of water 

on my nightstand, 

swishing around the bland liquid in my mouth 

before closing my eyes. 

You noticed my fatigue in the morning but smiled anyway; 

hurriedly posing in front of the camera on our stone steps 

as I poured some cognac into a tumbler. 

“Coffee,” I said raising it high. 

You fidgeted on the drive over— 

maybe because you were nervous, 

or maybe because you knew. 

My hands fidgeted with the metal bolts on my chair 

as your name rang out and you crossed the stage. 

I took a gulp,

lips pursing and eyes blinking as they met yours. 

I saw you deflate. 

Over the years, the clinking of bottles replaced the clinking 

of plates on holidays, 

and I exchanged my unmeaning ring 

for some backyard Moonshine. 

Sold your bed frame two months ago as the buyer pointed to the walls,

littered with posters of boy bands and TV shows I didn’t recognize. 

“You don’t need it?” he asked. 

“No.” 

Orange Sunset at Utah Lake

by Joy Curtis

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Dahlia R. is currently an undergrad English and Creative Writing student in Tampa, Florida.

Joy Curtis is an artist whose photography captures the rugged beauty of the Rocky Mountains and the sweeping plateaus of Southwest Colorado. Her work explores the interplay of light and shadow, the vivid hues of desert landscapes, and the timeless spirit of the wilderness. Call it splendor, call is majestic, but in short Joy just likes nature.