Spring 2010

Hunger

por Tony Press

Jenny falls asleep mid-murmur while my eyes trace the ceiling shadows. Her body curves outward from mine. Under her pillow, our left hands join. Her other hand, the only uncovered part of her, ventures a few inches into the night. Her socked feet tuck themselves between my bare ones. My right hand cups her right breast. More often than I prefer, this particular posture calls back a question from a dozen years ago.

Taylor and I had been a couple for six months. People loved us because Octavia Taylor detested her first name, had responded to nothing but “Taylor” from the day she turned eighteen, and my name is Taylor Trzcinski.

 

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