Birthday at a Motel 6

CHLOE HONUM

The summer rain takes one last sweep through the leaves.

Sunlight shimmers on the stones below. In the parking lot, twogirlssmokeastheystroll, followingthegrayscrollsoftheir breath.

Some of the doors are open to dim rectangular scenes as intricate as tarot cards—Lovers and Fools and High Priestesses.

Above them the wind carries petals over dusk's border. Sparrows hunt for their inheritance in the trampled grass— and my question endures another year, lit by tiny stars striking out across Arkansas. How will I live without her?

ARIELLE HEBERT

Unspoken Conversation Between an Addict and an Old Friend

I couldn’t bear to watch You hollow yourself out Into the eye of a needle You began to hunt every day Woke earlier and earlier

Your knuckles on my window at dawn I NEED YOU TO HELP ME I’M YOUR FRIEND

How else could I hope to love Any part of you but to leave With the little that remained

I learned to mourn the living Loss is a poor guide but at least I had some peace without you

When I needed you most The needle answered

Addiction is like making friends With the butcher Dancing alone with him In the walk-in freezer

We were fantastic dancers

You want to move The memory of me To that fertile land The forgotten I’m still here Look past All these teeth