Photo by Michał Mancewicz on Unsplash
by Tara Isabel Zambrano
On my fifteenth birthday, Dad brings his lover—tall, bald, his jawline—a knife in my eyes. Above us a cloud cinches into a knot, gargling heat.
Dad’s lover kisses me on my cheek, his saliva settling on my skin. Gentleness flourish in his eyes before it’s replaced by something dangerous. There are pinpricks in my body, his hunger entering everywhere.
When I look up, the sky is dark and shiny as a raven’s wing.
Tara Isabel Zambrano is a writer of color.
