Love Your Enemy by Prerna Bakshi

Your One Phone Call

They say
So I love them
By killing them softly
With my kisses
Dripping with this
Unquenchable hate
That grows stronger
With each passing day
As bitter and rich as
Dark chocolate
As bright as the
Color red
Blood red
Trust me
When I say
My kisses are
Irresistible
Inescapable
To die for
Killing
Quite literally
My other enemies
Would attest for it
Or at least
They could
If they were
Still alive.

Prerna Bakshi is a sociolinguist, research scholar and writer of Indian origin, currently based in Macao. Her poetry has been published, or is forthcoming, in Linden Avenue Literary Journal, Indiana Voice Journal, Red Fez, Muse India, Postcolonial Text, Theory in Action, Hysteria, Misfit magazine, Grey Sparrow Journal, Asahi Shimbun and elsewhere. She could be found on Twitter: @bprerna Prerna Bakshi is a sociolinguist, research scholar and writer of Indian origin, currently based in Macao. Her poetry has been published, or is forthcoming, in Linden Avenue Literary Journal, Indiana Voice Journal, Red Fez, Muse India, Postcolonial Text, Theory in Action, Hysteria, Misfit magazine, Grey Sparrow Journal, Asahi Shimbun and elsewhere. She could be found on Twitter: @bprerna

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Almaden

Robert Kirkendall

by

Robert Kirkendall

John stood outside the back door of his family farmhouse smoking a cigarette. He looked out across the maintained rows of green leaved plum and apricot trees under the midday sun. In the distance he saw a construction crew on a recently cleared lot paving new streets and laying foundations for future tract houses, and felt encroached upon. His mother came out of the house and stood next to him. They looked toward the setting sun over the western mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” John said sullenly.

“We couldn’t get a hold of you,” his mother replied. “You’ve been away for close to three years now. And with all your moving around after your discharge we didn’t know where to find you.”

“I would’ve returned sooner if I knew this was going to happen.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this. We were…

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