I Want to Believe by D McDonald
Beneath red sheets we drink Jim Beam , watch the X-Files , as you describe the mom who once left you crying in the garage after throwing away your rodent skull collection — two summers , tiny fingers prying open owl pellets for treasure more precious than any plastic — she called you sinful , a terror , freak of nature . You repeat this with eyes clear as lost ice-- twelve years later you still believe it . We take more shots , and fuck away the cold to the smooth purr of Agent Scully ’ s voice — she too is searching , and none of us know what truth is out there .
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Permeable by Aliza Chavez