I wore Mexican earrings—silver swans with turquoise heads dangled from my lobes; standing before Guernica, I felt microscopic and not quite up to our “date.” Did you suggest I wear green? I have forgotten why; was it for spring, but I haven’t forgotten the image of young you—jet hair with its off-center part cascading on either side of your face—I saw in Les Deux Magots where we first met—those eyes matching the intensity of the hair. Before I turned to go, I felt your breath upon my nape, a frisson coursed through my crotch, and your scent lifted me up, up towards the sun with the light bulb eye in Guernica. Would you render me in multi-color angles like Dora who said none of your depictions were her or cast me in bronze like Esmeralda, your she-goat muse? Hours later, I dangled my nipples across your sternum, kissed your bow shaped lips as my swans bathed in your eyes elegiacally begging for more.
Lucinda Kempe’s work is forthcoming in Gargoyle, Salvage (China Mieville editor), the McNeese Review, SoFloPoJo, Unbroken Journal, Bull, Gooseberry Pie, New Flash Fiction Review, and Centaur, among places. Her work has appeared on the Wigleaf Top 50(2018, 2019, 2020) and nominated for Best Microfiction (New FFR 2025). Her chapbook “Pretty Girl” is making the rounds. You can find her here: lucindakempe.substack.com.
Photo Credit: Riccardo Toso: www.pexels.com
