It feels like home here now.
I am unsurprised by things we do for love.
Distance has made me a casualty of something, I’m sure.
I’ll remember you by:
- Loud breathing
- Lack of body hair
On Thursday I made you breakfast: butter-less toast, bacon (raw) and heavy cream in your coffee. I never knew you to take cream with your coffee but last night in a dream I saw the thick, white liquid swirling into your cup.
This morning it must be so.
I’ll forget you by:
- Washing behind my ears
- Wading into water
The mud is deeper here. It feels good to sink into something. You would hate how it gets underneath your fingernails and crusts around your hair. Even as you lower to wash yourself I’m angry with your mother and her propensity toward disease.
Brenna Kischuk is a writer and editor with a Master of Fine Arts in Writing from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where she was also a Teaching Fellow. Currently she is the Editorial Director of The Angle Magazine and founder and editor of online literary journal, pioneertown . Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in NOÖ Journal, theNewerYork, HTMLGIANT, Matchbook Literary Magazine, Chicago Arts Journal, Used Furniture Review, and elsewhere. Find her online at brennakischuk.com.