Mother — Port of Spain
by Beverly Jackson
From the bed, my head heavy as hibiscus, I watch her zip into a strapless gown, then sit at her dressing table. She touches Joy to her wrists. Across the veranda, the Trinidadian night is spangled like navy tulle. I breathe deeply, waiting for her perfume to make me giggle. I kick my legs, eyes shut as the tropics rain inside me. “Are you being silly?” she asks, studying her face in the mirror as she presses red lips to a tissue. I tumble to the floor, too small for this world, assaulted, undone.
Beverly A. Jackson is an artist making memories in Naples, Florida, living alongside an alligator in a backyard lake.
What is compression to you, both in general in in this piece? Memories, to me, are compressed life. Like little marbles, they rattle around in my brain, just a few quarks, not the whole hadron. My head is full of marbles, this being one of them.
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.
Submissions
Poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction/prose poetry submissions are now closed. The reading period for standard submissions opens again September 15, 2025. Submit here.
Upcoming
10/12 • Kathy Fish
10/19 • Katherine Garrison
10/26 • Beverly Jackson
11/02 • Robert Scotellaro
11/09 • T.L. Sherwood
11/16 • Susan Buchler
11/23 • Chelsea Stickle
11/30 • TBD
12/07 • TBD
12/14 • TBD
12/21 • TBD
12/28 • TBD