A tumble from heaven, landmines, bones, synthetic ears, a car horn’s long howl, Maryland’s pink breath in a mirror—this month we are looking at machines; the interplay between organic experiences within sterile spaces.
We are also launching the artists TALK project, featuring interviews with groundbreaking and emerging voices within the LGBTQIA community.
You can read my conversation with Sylvia here.
You can read Liam Lezra’s interview with Ryan Cassata here.
And next month, we are looking at:
LOVE. We want sweet messy brutal musings on the depths and peaks of first loves, last loves, almost loves, should-have-never loves…
You can submit here.
Through the Bus Window, 1998
With palms like leather soles, he shuffles toward our bus, planting his hands on the ground and sliding his bottom forward, a swift, swinging rhythm, the sleeves of his shirt and seat of his pants sullied with earth. What core strength, I think, guessing his age as mid-forties.
I do the math, surmising he was in his teens when it happened. But I don’t know. I don’t know if it was a landmine, a bomb, or gangrene from wounds, only that his legs were taken. I don’t know on which side of the war he stood, only that both sides spoke of bringing freedom. I don’t know why he rushed to our bus, only that I suspect he hopes for money. The bus crawls away, crunching gravel under its weight, at this intersection north of Saigon. I don’t know what he thinks as we gaze through the glass, only that our eyes look into the other.
He waves, wearing a sign around his neck that says Jesus Saves. I don’t know what salvation is, only that forgiveness is a myth based on the spilling of blood. Life teaches me that the stains cannot be washed away, that it is best to grieve our sins and not deceive ourselves, that if there is no pardon, perhaps we tread more gently on the earth.
George Such is a part-time lecturer in the Writing Program at Rutgers University and also works as an independent personal fitness trainer. In a previous incarnation he was a chiropractor for twenty-seven years in Washington State. His creative writing has appeared in Arroyo Literary Review, Blue Mesa Review, The Cape Rock, Dislocate, The Evansville Review, and many other literary journals.