June 6, 2023

Honest

By Amy Marques

Photo by Scott Webb on Pexels.com

The last time she lied was a minute ago. She hasn’t told the truth in years. Her tongue wraps itself around assurances of happiness with no repentances, she is independent, able, fine, fine, fine. She hasn’t listened to herself in years. Her body screams headaches and stomach knots and bottomless appetites, an urge to rearrange the pantry, the drawer, the closet, the schedule. To break down all the cardboard boxes until they fit just so in the recycling bin. She studies the invitation to a quiet retreat and marks decline.

About the Author

Amy MarquesAmy Marques grew up between languages and places and learned, from an early age, the multiplicity of narratives. She penned children’s books, barely read medical papers, and numerous letters before turning to short fiction and visual poetry. She is a Pushcart Prize, Best Small Fictions, and Best of the Net nominee and has work published in journals and anthologies including Streetcake Magazine, MoonPark Review, Bending Genres, Gone Lawn, Ghost Parachute, Chicago Quarterly Review, and Reservoir Road Literary Review. You can read more at https://amybookwhisperer.wordpress.com.

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Your Impossible Voice
Amy Marques
noodle dish in a bowl
low light photography of brown window blinds
unrecognizable person walking on illuminated street in evening
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