is
~’, Little Hands

Chrys Enns
Contributor

 

 

Once when I was walking home from my minimum wage job
that I hated more than anything most days but that day the most
I saw, to my surprise

one "
two

three

five

raccoons in the children’s playground near my house that I shared with my two other roommates.

I know that raccoons are feral

vicious

hungry

but at that moment I was that, and more

and so I reached into my pocket to grab the cookie I had taken

(stolen)

from work

(but it is okay to steal from a job that you hate, in fact I encourage you to steal up to the amount that they should
pay you for healthcare coverage)

and I crumbled it up into little bits and I scattered the crumbs across the playground

and the racoons scampered over and grabbed them with their little gloved hands

and they ate them the way I ate my food on my fifteen-minute lunch break in the middle of my eight-hour shift
standing and serving other happy people who had more than me

and I thought that maybe I was a racoon with little thieving hands and a mask and little sharp teeth

but then I got scared and shooed them away and they ran into the night, scampering across the road

——
Sugar

Roshni Riar

Staff Writer
I gather your words in my hands, fists clenched

- around their shape. They leak out from my
a, fingers,
| fresh picked blackberries I press into jam

mouth stained. Your juice dribbles down
my chin. I’m desperate to consume the sounds
you
make just for me. Your sweet
nothings get caught in my teeth and I refuse
to floss. I taste your sugar on my tongue.
Canker sores line my mouth, budding angrily
with lust. I bite down on the pain to bring you
closer.
When I close my eyes, you shimmer ina field

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

|
Se, between my palms. I lap at the mess,
|
Nees
Neen!
Med
of white, honey skin begs me to get caught in
you, a fly in atrap. The picture plays on a loop

against the backs of my eyelids while I sleep. I
wake

 

up drenched, simple syrup pooling between my
sticky thighs. A shameful, saccharine mess.

It takes its toll, the way you hooked me onto
your

sweet. My stomach bunches and throbs at the
sound of your voice. Your sweetness makes me
sick but I get the shakes if I can't have you.