by Amanda McLeod
The Riverbank
after Arthur Sze
—the president suggests we consider injecting ourselves with cleaning supplies or sunlight—
I walk along the river,
—the part that floods
when the dam opens—
and the rocks
shift like grinding
teeth under my feet.
Hanging across tree limbs
and tangled in the bushes
are lost, faded clothes
and a water-logged sleeping
bag. Skeletons of old signs
are imbedded in the earth.
Soon, it will be overgrown
and green and thick, but now
it’s a beach of barren trees.
I press my shoe near a footprint
in the sand to see if it’s mine
or from someone before me.
I’ve imagined how I could die
here, every way involving water
or a man or a bad choice.
In my family, we say
the dead visit as cardinals,
and now these trees vein
the earth and claw
up from the sand, sticking
out like exposed nerves.
The way the red birds
swoop, circle, and land,
you’d think it was still autumn.
Orpheus Leads the Grief Support Group
We lie on the ground & look to the sky in our cubicles
of pink picnic blankets hung from a labyrinth of clotheslines.
The man to my right says it’s been raining oceans for years. I watch
the blue sky & hear him quake; a rabbit shaped cloud blocks the sun.
I’m afraid of everything someone says or maybe it was me.
A gust of wind lifts our walls—if I turn my head, I’d see the others,
but that’s against the rules. I close my eyes & hum but make no noise.
Someone says I don’t know why I’m here—no one asks what they mean.
Another says but you are & you’re welcome to stay—
I reach my hand under the picnic blanket to the man weeping next to me.
Frayed edges tickle my wrist. His hand is cold & solid like stone.
It’s hard to remember, he says. I squeeze his fingers gently; I think he’s marble
or maybe we both are. It’s hard to feel anything someone says. I let my hand relax
but leave it under the divide. Minutes pass & everyone is silent.
I keep my eyes shut: all I want is to see pink. His hand becomes warm,
soft or maybe mine does. He squeezes my fingers back.
Chloe Ackerman is from Eau Claire, Wisconsin where she recently graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire with a bachelor’s degree in creative writing and psychology. Her work can be found in Barstow & Grand and UWEC’s NOTA Magazine.
Amanda McLeod is an Australian author and artist, with a penchant for wild places and quiet. Her work has appeared in many places both in print and online, and her flash fiction collection Animal Behaviour was released by Chaffinch Press in 2020. Her work has been shortlisted in several writing prizes, and won the 2018 Marjorie Graber-McInnis Short Story Award. She is Managing Editor of Animal Heart Press. Find her at amandamcleodwrites.com.