Gingerbread House Lit Mag

For Getting By: A Seven Day Guide

Monday

Work out your budget this morning. Quarter a week.
Seek a spectacular name: Ziggy. WonderWoman. L.
Trust them not to rip you off. L can’t keep you long.
Go home, sleep off the social spending until sunrise.

Tuesday

Do not answer the rhythmic tapping. It’s only the knife
in your kitchen drawer, trying to remind you this is the last
chance if you want some shallow wounds. Knock back.

Wednesday

Nightmares hover here. They come in through windows and rearrange
all of your furniture. You wish you were well-liked enough for mercy,
but know, they want you to look them dead in the face. Cancel the day.

Thursday

Add your greatest fear to your grocery list. Set it on fire.
You won’t be needing to eat today. Buy beer instead,
liquid loaves and loaves and loaves of peasant bread.

Friday

What today calls for is an impulse tattoo. Something strong
that establishes the already-inhabited surface is, in fact, yours.
Needle purges previous explorers. Plant a flag. Let no one touch it.

Saturday

Go out. Be people rather than person. It’s crucial.
Eat tortilla-wraps and ladyfingers with painted nails. Reject
the boy asking for a cigarette— he only wants to put it out
on your thighs. Find a goddess wearing nothing but a headpiece,
ask her what it’s made of. Receive the glitter in deep breaths.

Sunday

Hold church down at the bar. When the corporeal
ones crowd the cathedrals, the ghosts are forced
to loiter outside. Sometimes they follow you home
and spend hours trying to make eye contact. Avoid
the awkward situation. Let spirits soothe spirits,
let them invent excuses for why you won’t look up.

Marina Morreale


Marina Morreale is a young writer from League City, Texas. Her creative nonfiction has appeared in the Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle. She is currently working on her MFA in Fiction at Texas State University.

Artwork: Minjae Lee, Blossom Desire
Websitehttp://www.grenomj.com/

This entry was published on September 30, 2018 at 12:05 am and is filed under Archive, GH.32 (September 2018), Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.
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