You Are Actually A Baby Deer And I’m Not Going To Let That Get In The Way Of Our Potential Future Relationship

YOU ARE ACTUALLY A BABY DEER AND I’M NOT GOING TO LET THAT GET IN THE WAY OF OUR POTENTIAL FUTURE RELATIONSHIP

There is seriously an island in the south pacific that is entirely covered in fragments of human teeth and all of these teeth are from people whose parents took them from underneath their children’s pillows. Spoiler alert the tooth fairy is parents. Anyway the teeth are in fragments because i have walked over every inch of this island looking for a secret code that was placed there by the incas that was placed there by tibetan monks that was placed there by george clooney’s hidden twin that was placed there by an animate meteor with a bad childhood who now places secret codes on tooth-islands. This secret code will let me into a room in a broom closet at the pentagon and i know after i duck all the security lasers and put lead sand in my pockets until i weigh exactly 203.4 pounds and use my hidden clooney twin retinal replicating glasses i can gain access to this pentagon-room where they are doing top secret research on the unpredictable physiological effects of your hair-smell. I read about this on wikileaks and I need to get in this room because you left your phone at my apartment i want to make sure you have your phone.

NO SKIN

Christopher was born without skin. He slid from his mother all organs barely held in with muscle and sinew. Naked at 35 he is still covered in a wide net of scars from the unconventional, patchwork grafting the doctors did. Like a skin quilt they sewed onto him. Like Edward Scissorhands. Like Herman Munster. Christopher loves it. It makes him feel like a superhero who could at any minute discover his powers. He has seriously considered getting tattoos at all the scars’ intersections. Little points of black ink all over his body emphasizing the thin white lines. Maybe cryptic symbols. Something badass. Maybe he should shave his head.

WOLF RAIN

It was the day after the first wolf rain of the year and I hadn’t been planting yet. I was worried the second sun would dry up the crops if I started this late in the season, but it was now or never, and the sigourney-weaver seeds were yellow, almost white, so I knew they would take root right away if I put down enough water. Sigourney-weaver needs a lot of water to grow. I was going to be spending all day in the fields. The first sun set around 3 that day so I had a few hours of cool dark to plant in before the second one came up. I hadn’t seen Celia in fifteen years, but I still thought about her. I remember in the fall, when she used to help me harvest, just her and me out in the sigourney-weaver all day long, her hair, her smile. It was really hard not to think about Celia these days, now that there wasn’t anyone else around to take my mind off her. It’s amazing that she still held such a spell over me after all these years. She probably wouldn’t even look the same now. Lovely, lovely Celia.

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Sara June Woods lives in Toronto. Her first collection, Wolf Doctors, was published by Artifice Books. Her poetry is published or forthcoming in Barrelhouse, Diagram, NAP, Another Chicago Magazine, Pear Noir!, JMWW, >kill author, LIES/ISLE, Mudluscious, [PANK], and iO