Two By SOPHIA MURRAY

1... Places I have unexpectedly found joy.

When I was no longer a daughter / one consumed the other until the binding burned bad blood and our bodies as mother and daughter were buried on opposite sides of the horizon / I indulge in this orphaned state / the vacuum of your mothering allows me to build a shrine to those who spill honey freely
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Squab Roast II — painting by Viktoriya Banul

the girl woke beneath a canopy
where day has turned dark
and hunched from a sky
pouring horizontal and white—

chasing over latitudes,
beyond time zones,
over roads
and mountains
of the lesser gods,
it never pauses
as it races
to the western
shoreline

There are many fears by which Herm Sterbert is possessed. He fears the large dark tan strongmen who build up their blood filled sacks of bodies at the health club at the corner. He fears other things. Why does he fear the men?

They come out of the gym punching their hands, licking their lips, craning and cracking necks and looking into the sun. They come away in a state. They’re hungry. But not hungry for Herm, but for anything that has it coming without knowing it does.

“I’m expecting a parcel. Package.” “What apartment?” The doorman didn’t look up from his book. “B12.” “There might be something in the back. But… hey they’re cleaning in there. If it came on the late.” “Okay then,” Herm said, “I’ll wait,” and then, after a beat, “What are you reading?” he said. “Why?” the doorman said. “Oh, I don’t know,” Herm said. “Forget it.” He looked up from his book now. Now he appeared to be smiling.