Cherry and Claudia

She asked me to touch her. Down there. It’s been so long, she said. I feel like a coffin. Just use your fingers. I was reluctant. When she said—It’s just your hand, it’s not you—I thought—It’s just my hand, not me—and so I did it. I slipped my hand under her muslin skirt, between her legs. I had barely grazed her and she sucked hard on the air, as if shocked. She shook. She groaned. It was like a coffin sliding on hot glass. A coffin that was about to fall off the earth’s edges. I had no compass. She was old. Not that old. She was almost seventy. But she is also different ages. And dead. Cherry spoke to me in a clenched whisper—Please, please put it in all the way. I want them all the way inside. Because it was Cherry asking me, I saw Cherry. Her hair was red. Her eyes were green. The green of the sea. An early sea, before human influence. I pushed my fingers in all the way. Sudden moisture, like tree sap, pooled around my knuckles. I was scared to know what it smelled like. And intrigued. Claudia groaned telepathically. Cherry groaned audibly. These two women were going to be the death of me.

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at johnbiscello.blogspot.com. Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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