I won’t want to remember what you look like, the sound
of your voice. I’ll call you Dorothy. It’s the future, the skin-
buzz of a tattoo on the back of your neck. It’s now. It will
be our little secret. It will be the crescent scar on the small
of your back. We’ll fuck and it will be your idea. We’ll talk
about the sound the Midway makes on hot summer nights,
the bang bang of something worthwhile. We’ll talk about
the day your mother died. How the trees bent and kneeled
to the shotgun blast furnace sun. How every day ever after
is orphaned, how there are so many different ways to leave.
Alex Stolis lives in Minneapolis.
Art Credit: Antique map of Kansas in public domain.