Diana Clark
Funnel Cake Under the Awning
“the hell in me is that I’d do it again, / in leafy sun, in nothing, toe-heel down / the sand to stand waist-deep in the ancient pool / laugh and leap up, leap up, leap up,
leap up—”
-Nantahala National Forest, by Anna Lena Phillips Bell
Pike pulled her hair back, full and thick, the weight of her ponytail heavy on her skull. It was summer though, and even with the sun down, even by the shore, the New Jersey heat was too much for it to be loose against her neck, where it grew tendril-like on her skin, damp with sweat and salt.
Riley had texted both her and Lin a little less than an hour ago. Spontaneous ride to the beach? I’m driving. Pike loved her girls, loved their excursions and their lemonade from Panera and their tired walks through Bed Bath & Beyond, where they always stopped at the large metal crates of pillows shaped like candy—Hershey Bars and Jolly Ranchers, a bag of Twizzlers and boxes of Nerds—and squished them between their