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Portland II

February 28, 2016 2 Comments

Portland II
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Fifteen years later, I see him again. In the green, wet world of rain. We wear sandals, our toes damp and plump. His mouth is the only thing dry.

We’re older now, and ruined. Our words spit scabs, salt cutting tongues. Such is love, in the now, in the future of our perfect selves. Back then we fucked in the publisher’s chair, in the newsroom where we worked. Now we don’t touch. We touch but don’t feel.

Beyond the city, the forest whispers wet sounds: trillium, leaves, the slippery loud ferns. We can’t hear. We are ruined. We taste only green.

By Cinthia Ritchie

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher says

    February 28, 2016 at 12:12 pm

    I like how you put heart into this story. I could feel for the protagonist. Nice work.

    Reply
  2. Bobby Warner says

    February 29, 2016 at 11:29 am

    Nice comment on how some lives seem destined to spiral down into oblivion.

    Reply

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