You spill your guts: glitter and stale water, all over my hardwood floor. I clean up every piece of you, shards of glass and a half-cracked figurine of Dorothy. Her lips are red. A color my ex would call Whore Red. There is a look of anxiousness painted on her face. I pick her up, delicately—because she is broken—and hold her between my thumb and forefinger. She is staring off into the abyss of my living room. A living room filled with moving boxes. I recognize the look. It’s the waiting for the storm. It’s the smell of incoming rain. She is facing the single event in her life that will change her path forever. There’s an evil old woman pumping her legs on a bike, a tornado scraping itself together, heading right for her. There were never Styrofoam flakes masquerading as snow in this fragmented globe, just glitter and plastic. Without snow, what do I call you?
When I stood in line at the women’s shelter, my face painted on with the same look, bruises on my neck, a baby in my arms and my lips smeared with my whore’s red, no one knew what to call me, either.
What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “Wizard of Oz Snowglobe”? “It was a terrible thing to do undergo, but during the year I stood there I had time to think that the greatest loss I had known was the loss of my heart.” — the Tin Man
What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “Wizard of Oz Snowglobe”?
“It was a terrible thing to do undergo, but during the year I stood there I had time to think that the greatest loss I had known was the loss of my heart.” — the Tin Man
Check out the write-up of the journal in The Writer.
Matter Press recently released titles from Meg Boscov, Abby Frucht, Robert McBrearty, Tori Bond, Kathy Fish, and Christopher Allen. Click here.
Matter Press is now offering private flash fiction workshops and critiques of flash fiction collections here.
Poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction/prose poetry submissions are now open. The reading period for standard submissions closes again December 15, 2023. Submit here.
11/27 • Michael Mark
12/04 • Helen Beer
12/11 • Rachel Rodman
12/18 • Betsy Robinson
12/25 • Trish Hopkinson
12/31 • Kim Chinquee
01/01 • Jill Michelle