Search Results for leg

...Hannah Keziah Agustin [email protected] © 2022 Hannah Keziah Agustin 2022 Hannah Keziah Agustin a building ledge, an alleged crime, a leg crossed over another leg, a plea Disappearance is a complex system of repression, a thing in itself, a presence rising...

..., mom calling Cameron! Cameron! to get you to look, then said kick, kick! Remember, there’s nothing a mother won’t do for one still shot of your head above the water. It’s important to always practice good form: kick your legs. Remember Tortola, the sea like melted marbles...

...?” “Nothing. Just missed you.” It was a nice idea, this missing me, but I knew better. “Claire. What is it?” She took a deep sigh and the connection between us crackled. “It’s Sidney.” “What about her?” “She has a tumor. They want to take her leg.” I could turn most anything...

...Nat Wisehart Nat Wisehart Liminal Space For a year I was between names and would rather not be called by anything. But Oliver tried to settle me. Hunched over his laptop, he scrolled through the alphabet on page after page of baby name sites. On his couch, under the same fleece blanket, our legs...

.... The first half of The Prosthetic Impulse deals with the relationship between language and the corporeal. Vivian Sobchack, in “A Leg to Stand On,” observes that prosthesis as language has saturated the reality of lived experience. In her discussion of the athlete/model Aimee Mullins, Sobchack...

... this up—ran over his own head. The cops are milling around while this deep- as-God voice-over assures us that the man lying on the pavement with his legs crossed and a hand resting on his chest really is dead. You couldn’t see much of his face in the shadow of the wheel well, and there was nowhere...

... the ventilation slats, kept his frantic worry at bay as best he could as the water sluiced and poured, and when he had them cleared, John Barry took a breath and dove, kicked through the open hole, shoul- ders and arms, sunken chest, rubbery gut, hips and crotch and legs and feet, all. One hand grasped his...

... and ducked her head. He was olive-skinned, early middle-aged, with black hair and large, asymmetrical eyes. Dressed in maroon pants and a tan jacket, he smeiled like a mixture of sea water and spices. As he rocked from one foot to the other, his legs seemed to be of uneven length. He studied her...

..., Plexiglas closing in, cloudy exhales mingling with sputtering fry grease. At a one-legged table with a tiny square top, she puts her hands on the surface and spreads her fingers wide, palms flat, ready to trace into Thanksgiving turkeys. She pulls...

... face and pointed to the wagon. “You boys grab two chains and follow along.” The chains were swaying metal snakes across Hilton and Eliot’s shoulders. Their legs burned with the weight. Sherwood slipped into the forest on the east side of their farm, and the boys exchanged glances...

... a laugh. There was a brine and shrimp stink from the bay. Then the little girl sat down on her blue denim dress. Y’all boys like my draw- ers, she said. Then she didn’t have any drawers on, then inside her blue denim dress the pale see-through skin of her legs had little red eyes with yellow...

...Brian Oliu © 2015 Brian Oliu 2015 Brian Oliu Blaster Master This is what has been left to us. I don’t remember what I saw: the peeking out of legs from a hole we dug in the backyard, the wheels, the mountain. I live in the shadow of a mountain: colossal —​a vol- cano dormant...

... a teacher or something? The girl bends past her dust-covered legs to pick up another beer can. She tosses it into the wagon behind her, then moves back to the middle of the road, the wagon rattling behind her. She has Pringle-Toungate  23 worn the same...

... and throwing one leg over the bench I’d carved from a walnut tree that fell in a storm some years back. I’d cut it down in the thick branch of its middle where the grain was like tight waves, almost curls. She sits down too, facing forward, stretching her long legs. Sunday slips off her shoes...

... imagined running into her great hairy arms. Licking her throat. Inhaling her thick smell. Finding her tongue with mine, tasting apples. Tumbling back into the high grass, her legs clamped around my buttocks, both of us sticky with apple juice. Warmth. Brown eyes. A roaring tangle of limbs...

..., my alarm said it was past midnight. By the time my eyes adjusted, the stain on my boxers had grown cool against my leg. Throw them out,I thought. You have to throw them out. Blue monitor light spilled through the crack beneath my bed- room door. My father was still awake. I closed my eyes...

... on to jump onto the porch in a sitting position. The railing was still there, but just hanging into the air. You could see clear under the house. Miss Claudia held a cigarette in one hand, scratching with the other. She was swinging her legs where the steps once stood...

... stretched her arms and legs out across the mattress, reveling in the luxury, the cocoon of the warm sheets. As she continued to lie there, however, and the five more minutes she had promised herself in bed ticked away, awareness of her own death filled her slowly, like light filling a room. It did seem...

... her by the arms and then Chris took her legs and we made like we were going to toss her into the ocean. “On three,” I said. Towey  35 “Don’t let go!” she yelled. “Please!” Stefanie watched us as she handed over Delaney’s luggage...

... chair leg and bludgeon the back of his left knee. He topples. A whack across his head vibrates through to my arm, numbing my hand. He lays, gasping. Let me think or I ll kill you, I say. I swear, I ll kill you. I look at the family photo above the flipped table. In his youth, Vincent resembled...