Judith Even When Sleeping Part III

By Josh Bauer

A brief sketch of the things that (during the seconds that her blonde hair flashed against the darkness) welled up inside of me or came at me from the outside: A flannel sleeping bag, its smooth vinyl outer skin, the smell of my leather jacket under my head, the cheap shag carpet of the floor, the hard cold wood underneath that floor, how things stack upon each other almost indefinitely, the density of the winter outside, her nearness to me and her distance to me being the same, the cotton throughout the room, the glow of moonlight off snow seeping into the window like fog, the anxiety dripping from her heart and drowning out her voice, the anxiety pulling up from my gut quieting my breath, the specific language between lovers, the childish play, the spreading out and thinning of the heart into the limbs, the satisfaction of sharing without revealing.

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Josh Bauer received his M.F.A from Portland State University. His most recent publications have been in The Broken Plate and Green Mountains Review.


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