Black Fox Literary Magazine Issue #21

Tri-athletic masochism in every ocean swim.

French Roast coursed my anemic blood as I barreled through Pacific waves, peeled off my wetsuit to a tan, ripped body in a white string bikini every morning at sunrise.

25 years later I pull huge bathing suit bottoms over the loose trunks of my thighs, tug at the Lycra with an anger I usually reserve for my husband watching Sports Center or porn. My son slumps in his stroller munching on cashews, grinning at the miracle of my body, the first house he knew.

But this End-Of-Summer Sale strikes like a hail storm of grief, Grandma Clara‘s Slavic arms resurface from the dead 91