Zoe G.

United States of America

dreaming of fishes and wishes

Zoe G. (United States of America)() published:

Bite (Ophelia's Lament)

FREE WRITING

    He says he hopes violets spring from the earth around me, but that is not what I want. I am sick of flowers. I want teeth. Molars, canines, cuspids. I want things that are sharp and horrifying to prick the feet of all who walk by here. Isn’t there a myth about a man who throws dragon’s teeth over shoulder in a field, and warriors spring from the place where they hit the ground? Men growing like tomato vines...

17 days ago

Zoe G. (United States of America)() published:

Summerfall

FREE WRITING

It’s the fall of summer,
summer,
falling.

Like Rome fell;
    Goths, Vandals, Huns, Franks.
Like Pompeii, Carthage, Troy. 
Like nightfall: a velvet cloak 
brushing the earth.
Like the smooth stone I picked up from
    the beach yesterday
    which I didn’t even try to skip,
    but threw,
    and so it sank,
    the sea, swallowing. 

The sea is swallowing something, now,
    as night falls
    but is not fully fallen.
I can see the last...

3 months ago

Zoe G. (United States of America)() published:

Excerpt from Kate of the Coast

FREE WRITING

    We’d been hugging the coast the entire time, but an hour or two into our journey, we veered right and my mother led me to the cliffs.
    “Why are we going here?”
    “I stop here every time I come to town. My family used to live here. Before the flood.”
    The sea was blue and flat far far below us, singing the white summer light back into the sky. It was striped with a somber darker blue....

3 months ago

Zoe G. (United States of America)() published:

Gourmet Suburban Beast

FREE WRITING

Something strange crossed the street when we were driving home, its eyes glinting for a second in the headlights. We couldn’t tell what it was and then it was gone. “It had a strange gait,” my mother said. Leaping, loping, lupine. I wonder what it must be like, living wild in suburban front lawns glistening with pesticides and sprinkler-water. Sliding banana peels from trashcans with your sharp incisors. I don’t know if you have sharp incisors at all but I...

4 months ago

1

Zoe G. (United States of America)() published:

Hometown

FREE WRITING

There’s a town on the coast that is swimming with mist and the things that hide in it. Little houses dot a hill that ripples down to the sea. They say each house has a magnificent garden full of rose bushes dripping with heavy rosehips, and nasturtiums that pair perfectly with mint in a salad, and wild lavender all about. I myself have never seen the gardens: the mist is too thick. We of the town find our way from...

Seeking Peer Reviews

4 months ago

1

Zoe G. (United States of America)() published:

Untitled

FREE WRITING

i hold aloneness in a place inside of me:
    a little chamber 
        —like a heart—
where there is stained glass,
    and a bell has just rung but is not ringing
    anymore, anymore,
    and sunlight
        (or perhaps deep dark dirt)
    peers in from behind the glass
    and there is no one there.
        as with the bell, the people 
have only just left
    but their presence 
lingers.

it is...

4 months ago

1

Zoe G. (United States of America)() published:

To the Ocean

PROMPT: Water Body

To the ocean—
You’ve carried me out so deep;
cradled me so gently in your
ancient arms.

You’ve shown me miracles: 
lightness, and tiny fish, and
shells that fit perfectly
into the palm of my hand.
 
You’ve guided me to islands 
where the streets are lined 
with fairy houses,
and the hills hold the shape 
of the fog.

You’ve welcomed me,
enveloped me, 
when I was young, and older, and old,
and dirty, and clean,
and aching, and full,...

Seeking Peer Reviews

4 months ago

Zoe G. (United States of America)() liked God in a Thunderstorm by LilyC (United States of America)()

4 months ago

1

Zoe G. (United States of America)() published:

Fishless

PROMPT: Flash Fiction Competition 2019

She is wading into the water hands first and imagining minnows and anemones, although she knows there's nothing living left here. She imagines catching the last fish. It would need no coaxing, would delight in burrowing in the small warm cave of her half-closed fist. She and the fish would devote themselves to each other—symbiosis in a radioactive ocean weighted with coral reef corpses.
But when she closes her outstretched hand, to seize, to encircle, to house, there is nothing...

4 months ago

1

Zoe G. (United States of America)() published:

Bruise on Scarless Expanse

FREE WRITING

An eggplant bruise of a myth
is what you left on my
skin last night
when I showed you the
spot on my inner elbow
where a hummingbird
once pushed its beak past
flesh into blood in search
of sugar,
leaving only a small
moon-shaped scar—
I called it a blessing, then,
that such a beautiful thing
had thought my veins
flowed with
something sweet.

You pressed your fingertips
into that tender spot
and told me that they used to ...

Seeking Peer Reviews

5 months ago