Muslin

Written by Allison Lee Riechman-Bennett
Art by Allison Lee Riechman-Bennett


Caress caress caress caress caress caress
Can you rest?
That red hue that reaches in past your stained curtain, can it queue something other than
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Where is the rest
of the people that broke that sidewalk outside?
Straight in half, like a ritz giving nightlife a place to hide.
Muslin isn’t the blanket my mother gifted you when you said you had none, but this one is. It seems to
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More than we seemed to.
Naranjas trail down and wedge themselves inside young mouths. Muslin isn’t the fabric you wore, but the pattern it bares, parodies bodies it had worn before. The tension between my feet tucked, and yours began to tear at it, wipe away the
caress caress caress.