Patricia Gray Summer Solstice
I woke this morning with someone else’s teeth in my mouth—familiar teeth, but they don’t quite close. Standing up, I can see my eyes glinting green in the mirror—amber sparks radiating out. These are not the stone-blue eyes I’m used to. When a strange man walks past the window, a flicker of lust runs through me—a feeling I’d all but forgotten. Red lipstick from the dresser? I unclasp the top, run the soft cone over my lip. Its creamy scent intoxicates. Even my tangled hair is superb! The doubtful person I was is leaving. She slips under the bed like a shadow. My diet vanishes. Give me Eggs Benedict, a beignet, and a truffle. Whatever gripped me in the night can’t let go.