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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 12, Number 2, June 2018

Christine Shook
New York City, New York, USA

Wild Horses

The restaurant is an old barn outfitted with checked tablecloths and a painting of mustangs galloping through a field of long grass. He orders a pitcher of sangria and two T-bone steaks. The band’s country music makes me want to join the others on the small dance floor.

I slither down
another man’s leg
my date to join me
in this mating dance

He yanks me by the arm into his silver Jaguar. Weary, I slump down in the car seat unseen. Ocean waves bring stillness between us and I beg him to keep driving.

old mansions
on a rutted street
someone’s face
slips between the slats
of a broken shade

An American flag hangs over the queen-size bed in his basement apartment. I stumble on an orange shag rug and land on my ass. Faces form and vanish in the stucco ceiling as he grabs my hips and beats against my thighs until exhausted.

the same dream
my legs splayed out
on rough sheets
thin milky thighs
resting against mine

He stares at me until I come to, then shoves a ball of clothes into my chest. “Get dressed.” I grab the neck of a wine bottle.

running hard
I reach the highway
by streams of car lights
swerving around me



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