Ten authors explore things found or uncovered—repressed memories, a stolen necklace, fading photos, family secrets, broken promises, a derelict doll, an embroidery sampler, love.
• Desiree
The girl, Desiree, was perched on the front steps when I arrived. Although we'd never met, I recognized her. She was lean and dark: a tan, black-haired child a little too tall for her age. The pants she wore were cut off crooked around the knee; her skin was muddied and her shirt stained. As I pulled into the driveway, she sat brushing the hair of a naked Barbie doll, her expression dull and unamused.
• Meeting Angel
The first abortion was necessity. The second also, I think. When it came to the third one, I told my husband we should be reconsidering.
• Manoeuvres
I don't understand it, she said, knowing that somewhere, in some country, rockets were falling, bloody world, getting bloodier. She looked at you. I don't understand it. And you were supposed to explain it?
• Things Not Seen
Jasmine thought that her drama degree from Spelman, incredibly good looks, and light skinned black complexion should have led her to leading lady roles in Hollywood by now, but her greatest triumph so far was playing a bit part in a racist musical at the Alliance Theatre.
• Roommates
The day Rochelle moved out, I first thought: great. Miss Holier Than Thou is gone…for good! Wendy has her own bedroom, the other’s mine, though I had thought about sharing it with Rochelle. Now we’ll buy a new black leather sofa to fill the space where Rochelle’s cot stood in the living room. That lumpy pipe-legged cot with its sheets sticking out from the cover.
• The Inheritance
Leah Blume belonged to The Will of the Month Club. In the one year of our actual relationship, she threatened to change her will (I’ll cut you out of it... I thought you were such a bright girl) every time I wouldn't visit her instead of my mother. She dangled butchered relatives before me to demonstrate her razor-edged skill.
• Who Are You?
Kat’s first instinct, when she saw the woman step from the bus, was to hide, slide under the table, vanish like a phantom. Or run. But her husband sat next to her in the noisy pavement café, watching the kaleidoscope shapes and shades of the busy Firenze street.
• In the Beginning
The first sign was your handwriting. Like a child’s
it slanted left then right, letters unevenly placed,
lines falling off. The endearing attempt made.
• Growing Neurons
in the Desert
Her ideas are now like fog in an awkward environment
such as the desert
yet she’s never been good with detail:
• Mother’s Aftermath
I am still able to speak the way I dream,
a stream of abstract, fully relevant thought.
I’ve only forgotten your name.
• Genealogy
There in my pocket diary—
notes like crops
baled in the barn loft.
• Finds
I walked into my grandmother’s dream,
it’s not uncommon, and saw her tearing
envelopes open with a trowel.
• Brother Bougainvillea
Kin because you were the sentinel forever at my door.
You tumbled over gates and concrete walls,
unabashed bracts holding small albescent moons.
• Photograph of
Mexico, 1953
My mother said this part of Mexico is like desert. The trees
huddle
at shore with thin skeleton arms, forever leaning, gasping.
The fiction editor of Found is Marko Fong.
Poetry editors are Amanda Yskamp and Douglas Larsen.
Download a pdf of the entire chapbook HERE.