I’d like to have an empty cupboard the way I like how I don’t fill the pouch in men’s underwear, a lonely nest void of muscle, hooking like a hand at life’s little figs. I want a space to hold a dream, to rent storage just around a corner. I am proud of this empty sack, the way it surrounds me, naming its place, pulling in fantasies I’d like to swallow. I offer myself to your imagination, put something tender inside.
96| PHOEBE 48.2
Fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, and art selected for our 2019 contest issue.