Milk

Milk When I learned your mother hadn’t breastfed you, I wanted to do it. Having no milk, we would have to imagine it. “It tastes like moonlight,” I would say, feeling the silent warmth empty from my breast, a grown man suckling that long denied nourishment, a homecoming.   [Meet the Moon | Christian Schloe]

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For Tituba

Christopher Greer is an educator and writer who lives in Alpharetta, GA. His work has appeared in, or is forthcoming from, Canary, Clarion, Inwood Indiana, and other small journals. He holds an MS from Purdue University. For Tituba How your body must’ve glittered under ceremonial moonlight, unapologetically glowing, wet with wondrous blasphemy. Unchained elation bleeding from the […]

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