Tag Archives: Christina Stephens

The Mango Tree

He sleeps under the mango tree. For 31 years he’s taken refuge in roughly fifteen feet of cicadas and tropical fruit. A paradise left by the previous owners; domestic, making fruit salad for their babies (the fruit she never bore). … Continue reading

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Cul-de-sac

Wearing a Looney Tunes t-shirt from her last vacation (17 years ago) her eyes water at the thought of bingo on Saturdays and whiskey sours— B-19, G-3: Bingo! You’ve won (another chance to play). There’s drip coffee in a water-stained … Continue reading

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Saudades

The shapes of your syllables, the double vowels— words like “coffee” lingered like a cigarette or a sunrise. I think of things like six cuts each wrist scars all through summer not to remember them just to know I still … Continue reading

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Aisle 10

Trying to be less in my head gorging myself on a plate of nothing; I’m vanishing for real this time, my lips prone to cracking lips of forced synonyms lips of formalities lips of half-moons as erasure. No one here … Continue reading

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Detox

I covered my mouth and eyes in cherries and honeysuckle and inhaled, trying to find that sweet breath I’d heard so much about; nobody squeeze my neck I already can’t breathe. Christina Stephens lives in Portland, OR with her dog … Continue reading

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Maps

My bones rearranged then atrophied inside your animal skin— the difference between purring and gagging. I became a reticent image of you singing Portuguese jazz with headphones on and a cigarette; you are not a               flotation device you are the               shipwreck. Christina … Continue reading

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