Plan B

By Margaret Graves

dawn breaks the lofty morning open, loved so much it’s smashed in the street, glinting off every window, car alarm, puddle of muck. barefoot on the wet pavement slaps, left on red, purse on thigh, ID over on 6th - separate the art from the artist, he said, as if my guts weren’t spread out from here to Lawrence. sometimes I’m a tinkling bell and a hello when I don’t want to be. maybe things were harder for him. credit given, and I take my coffee too fast again. maybe I know it’ll all be worth it in the end. some feeling like burning couches in the front lawn, three hits in a parking lot, my turn in the rotation. something like that. a big bite out of life.

the distance swallows me whole.

I fumble for the key.

when I finish peeling off the fingers of the person I let become me I rip up the shades and it’s all green and breathless out there.

THE END

Author Bio: Margaret Graves is a thirty-something office worker with a penchant for melancholy and a deep yearning for the human experience. Raised in the the central midwest and currently residing in the northern U.S., she is an ardent supporter of indie art and her publications to date have been limited to underground multimedia zines. She is proudly two years sober and is working on her debut novel.

Back to Issue