Her shoulders were much smaller
than mine. I wasn’t sure
how to touch them. If a man
ever felt this way about my body,
how could he
go on touching me?
It was surely a very bad thing.
The wet earth
smelled richer then,
in Vermont, when it let the rain
all the way in, let itself
be soaked through.
Alexandria Hall is a poet and musician from Vermont. She received her MFA from New York University. She is founder and editor of tele- magazine. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Narrative, BOAAT, The Bennington Review, Memorious, Pouch, Cosmonauts Avenue, and elsewhere. She lives in Baltimore. Her website is www.sadacid.com.
Hollis Johnson was born in 1993 in New Hampshire. He began pursuing photography in high school before attending the Massachusetts College of Art and Design, which he graduated from in 2015. He is currently based in New York City. His work projects uncanny sterility to banal objects and scenarios presented in tableau — snapshots of America drenched in sunlight yet trapped in antifreeze. His images narrate a lyrical world only just slightly askew of our own.