Back to Issue 3

The Night of Your Grandma Frances' Funeral by Melissa Broder

Sometimes you just feel extra alive, you said.

We were crying in your hallway
and slow dancing on each others' feet.

See, I said. You say you don't believe
in God, but I think you do. Not
the vertical God, but horizontal.

No, you said. I don't.          And you didn't.

And after I moved in, my Ram Das
sat on the same shelf as your

Bertrand Russell, and neither of them
said a word about it.

The Black Forest by Melissa Broder

Thank God I am not leaving you
for somebody else.
The black forest will swallow me
when I have forgotten
what an ass you were
about politicians and crowds.
But the forest has gradients;
it isn't one thing.
Pinecones resonate or rest
in rivulets of light;
sap is thick here but thin there;
a needle changes color
three times in one line
and sometimes the forest bottom
becomes soft for sleeping
if I notice. Notice.

Bio:   Melissa Broder is a literary publicist who lives in Manhattan. She has a B.A. in English from Tufts University and is a Creative Writing Poetry M.F.A. candidate at The City College of New York.