Written by Callan Latham
Art by Daria Shevtsova

I let my body sink. The dishwasher pushes out
a feather of steam. Summer begins to melt,
the way you used to look at me.

A quiet man in the dash of a streetlamp,
the woman with a moth stuck in her teeth.
I’ve been thinking of everything lately.

Thinking—each hair on my head; the quiet of yourself
between dawn and the next; jeans that pinch at my waist;
dust on the floorboards. The body as camouflage; the air
takes shape. I want to shrink until I can watch the water.

Fruit flies crusting the sink. Violets growing in an
empty room. The casual ache of home; I can’t stop
seeing you in the window panes as I pass.