By Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco


You kissed me in the underground 
garage. Fluorescent light made 
dental drill vibrations in concrete. 
Made my teeth feel foamy. Made
my tongue feel fat like meat.

I left the car and shut the door. 
The air was cold and it felt good.

I looked up at the filmy stars,
Tucked my hands into my pockets, 
And thought of air.

I hoped you wouldn’t follow.

Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in Merced, California with her husband and young son. Her work has appeared in Slow Trains and The Single Hound, and is forthcoming on Valley Writers Read, which is a radio show on Fresno's NPR affiliate.

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