After we slung our rotten insults, after we slammed every door, after we clawed the headboard paint instead of saying, sorry, after I dropped the tea …
What I Never Wrote by Lori Werner
Every week I step on the tired scale wondering why I want to lose parts of myself. I open the refrigerator door just to look: …
Anchor by Lori Werner
The first time I found him I was sixteen. He was crumpled under his bike like an unpaid bar tab. He smelled like cigarettes and …
Road Trip with Gordon by Lori Werner
Somewhere in Indiana a mother pulls her children out of the creek, wringing them like dirty dishrags. A man cracks open his last beer on …