Forget Magazine - Remember, Remember, Remember

The Girl with the Rainbow Mouth
by Sarah Glen

It felt heavy. Emotional emphysema. That time in your car. Your hands ten and two hooked tight around the burgundy vinyl telling me you want to eat more real food hate public transit would accept a bribe air-brush your photos.

You said this floral skirt hooked up around your chubby blue cheese knees picking at your cheek glancing at me while you change lanes.

(I wonder if anyone's ever made your stomach tight liquidy warm all at the same time just by saying your name)

The air vents didn't work you said. It was 17 degrees. Hotter inside. I wanted to unroll my window but it was automatic and you controlled that black switch. Only unrolled the back windows. Don't want to knot my hair you said. Said you'd be happier on the other side. Where you can drive fast and people think you're smart.

(bulky sweatered arms folded in loose loops around you pulling you over on the side of the street up against the brick saying nothing at all)

You asked me why I want to make no money telling people's stories to other people who don't read anymore anyway. Why I cared about blankets jackets for strangers cleaning out my closet not renting from Blockbuster. Why I wanted (maybe someday) children. All this while you fucked the Expedition in front.

(telling you you're beautiful in stiff dirty pajamas with the flu bringing you salted crackers because the way they smell doesn't make you leave the room)

Then you told me your springer spaniel died the same week your parents separated you started university for the first time. Told me you didn't talk much to anyone. Hadn't taken the ferry since you were five.

(provoking you to tears screams giggles because that unexpected travel cup full of cheap jasmine tea is exactly what you were thinking when it showed up on your desk just before lunchtime)

That's when you said you needed chocolate. Talked too much to me you said. Squeaky grass-stained sneakers rubbing over sticky seats. Said your feet were hot. I told you to take your shoes and socks off: it'll make you feel sexy - something about hard plastic against damp flushed skin.

(teaching you how to unroll the front windows drive in bare feet press gently on the underside of palms kiss eyelids speak softly smile)

The insurance wouldn't cover you you said.


Sarah Glen is calling after you. Hold on. Wait up.











  



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