CROOKED ARROW
  • About
  • Submissions
  • Bullseye
  • Issue 6
  • Archive

Christopher Rios

Names Redacted to Protect Confidentiality

Outside we hugged
And coveted red and black minivans
For their parking spaces
Smoking
Laughing hard
Losing breath
A million jokes about machinery
Cogs and wires spread loose we oil and pick inside
Sitting on the soil
In the concrete
It took me long enough to get my paper lotus
It’s still on the dashboard of my car

        ______’s purple hair ______’s red hair my red hair a milli
        On little hairs in my flannel pockets ______’s cigarette sm
        Oke in the layers of my lungs and clothes borrowing some f
        Rom ______ ______ and ______  grilled cheese all around
        Coffee tea empty cups marked with caffeine rings always w
        Ith ______ memorizing wrinkles lines colors texture clothin
        G style because I don’t know the next time I’ll see ______ o
        R _______ or ______ but I love them and when _______ as
        Ked how my aborted dates were and sent me pictures with _
        _____ Empty cans and empty jars and empty wrappers swee
        Ts and teeth all stained and tired under the eyes everyone has 
        Bags under the eyes and _______’s hates ___ but I see the sa
        Me purple swells like bruises and creme puffs under my eye an
        D _____ still loves me I know it and when ______ dissapeare
        D we all wondered why and when ______ stopped coming as 
        Often we wondered why and asked each other but nobody kne
        W and we knew nobody would know no I don’t need to expla
        In why I left the room it was _______’s remembering that ma
        De me remember and outside I was crying and ______ put ___
        _ arm against mine the closest we can go in the July August he
        At illegal contact is always forbidden like children but I still get 
        Phone calls and messages from ______ ______ ______ ______
        ______ ______ _______ and I promised to visit that sex shop 


The last day I saw those minivans
The last day I saw the inside of a room
Where the windows never opened
The last day I saw my own sweat pool
On my glasses with everyone still shaking
                                What does it truly take
                                To see someone again?


My last day everyone told me how much they loved me. I stopped eating those muffins but I still bought them. I bought another muffin on my last day. After I left the facility I started eating them all. Two muffins a day saved up. Chocolate chip smudges on my mattress my face my sheets my car seats. Everyone remembers how I would always be eating a muffin and cracking my joints. The told me so. They were gonna miss the sound of me cracking my neck. I offered to record it. It’s not the same, they said. I thought to myself What does it truly take to see someone again? Anyone really. All my muffins have been flattened in my bag. My joints still carry enough tension to snap.



​
Christopher Rios is an organizer and writer living in New Brunswick. All you need to know about them is that they love the beach but hate the sand. They love radiating an aura of mystery. They keep personal facts such as they were writing since they were six years old, they get depressed sometimes, and they love a good rib to themselves. All for the mystery.
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.
  • About
  • Submissions
  • Bullseye
  • Issue 6
  • Archive