#3

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Words: " My mother had me backwards as a screeching kazoo out her mouth, shrilling glass. I was a proud little tornado with dark eyes and big teeth, tearing up the plaster with my voice and driving my dozen sisters to hang me from the gutters like a drying fish. They were all grown up but I was born to Lin and the three-quarters man when she was a late and resigned 42, flying through the Northern valley up around the bait shops and red churches where the swamp air steamed. She met him in a bar up there. He perched beside her and touched her legs and spoke knowingly about her age, where she’d gone to school, who she’d loved, and it made her shake to hear it. She could tell, even in the dim bar light, that he was not all real and the child they would have together would not be all real either, full enough to function but crippled by a dime-sized hole that would never be filled or cured and that no house would take kindly to, but she let him in anyway and a bubbling liquid spilled all down her thighs and onto the curb to burn through the street. The way we heard it, the three-quarters man had so much built up inside of him that gummy eggs and leaves came spitting out his mouth and ears, enough to soak Lin and make her draw from him shivering. Running away, she broke through the cavernous hips of the valley as she climbed back up, naked and shriveled-wet, and fell asleep on the hill. The in-between is a knot of dreams. She woke up and had me. ."

Music: Baby Sharks Pt. 1 and Baby Sharks Pt. 2 by Brother/Ghost