Pie

1

June 1, 2014 by The Citron Review

by Anna Lea Jancewicz

 

Stepping on copper, walking all sweetfooted through the tender penny wishes, cold water to the crotch. My bare legs warble summerly songs. Songs we knew by heart in forbidden orange groves, beneath graffitied underpasses. Submerged, they sound like your deaf sister on a hot vinyl car seat. I pretend you are invisible there, I pretend I can’t see you seeing me. On the gusty periphery, the deep pockets of your cargo shorts spill out crisping beetles, Polish princes, prime numbers in long strings. Shared treasures, unforgotten.

There was that time I slept on your floor. Red bra, scabby knees, my nervous bedhead weaving itself into a nest for starlings. A suitcase of overdue library books smuggled across state lines. Your sweat smelled like honeysuckle and your fingers burned everything they touched. I mewled for a nightlight, so you left the bathroom door open to just a shy smile. In the morning, I went to the Piggly Wiggly and bought a chicken, hacked it to pieces on your kitchen counter, and fried it up fresh, because I was the kind of nineteen-year-old girl who knows what to do with a chicken.

Eating with our fingers, the grease soaked through the paper plates, slicked the formica, a sheen of grace. The outline of a Virgin Mary, the way she’d look if she were in a department store catalog, in a pointed bra, nice underwear. The kind of underwear that never get saggy with cheap elastic, never have bloodstains. You asked me to come back for your birthday, bake you a pie. Peach, you said, with a graham cracker crust. You sucked your fingers clean, the radio on top of the refrigerator started in with Motown, dreamy and danceable. Our slow-dance melted into goodbye kisses that blistered the wallpaper. But I never made the pie. Twenty years gone, passing by roadside fruit stands, peaches piled in pyramids, fuzzy and gold-rosy in the sun. Twenty years gone, I’ve been thinking about that pie.

I know I sent you emails when I was drunk. Sometimes, I remember a line or two. I always deleted them as soon as they were sent, bobbing out into the blue like messages in bottles. You never answered, I didn’t even know where you lived anymore. I didn’t know if you’d be here, to meet me at the fountain. But I knew you from a distance, knew your head, the way it hangs like a dry sunflower weighted with seeds. I knew you, from a distance.

 

Anna Lea Jancewicz lives in Norfolk, Virginia, where she homeschools her children and haunts the public libraries. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming at Literary MamaSqualorly: Literature from the Other Side, Bitterzoet, Fuck Fiction, and Black Heart Magazine. Yes, you CAN say Jancewicz: Yahnt-SEV-ich. More at: http://annajancewicz.wordpress.com/

Advertisements

One thought on “Pie

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

🍋10th Anniversary

Fall 2019 IssueSeptember 23rd, 2019
67 days to go.

🍋 Instagram

We love inventive flash fiction at The Citron Review. Today's highlight is "Knitting." https://citronreview.com/2019/06/21/knitting/ Carla Scarano D'Antonio obtained her Degree of Master of Arts in Creative Writing at Lancaster University. She self-published a poetry pamphlet, A Winding Road, and is working on a PhD on Margaret Atwood at University of Reading. She also contributes as a reviewer for The Blue Nib, London Grip, Write Out Loud, South and The /temz/ Review. #amreading #thecitronreview #summerissue #knittingstories #flashfiction
Our Creative Nonfiction Editor and playwright, Nathan Robert Elliott will have an actors' reading of his new play in Montréal at the Bibliothèque publique de Westmount Public Library on July 27 at 1:30pm.
We have some happy news to share! The Citron Review contributor Amye Archer has joined our Creative Nonfiction editorial team. Let's welcome her! Amye Archer - Author of Fat Girl, Skinny: A Memoir, and is the co-editor of If I Don't Make It, I Love You: Survivors in the Aftermath of School Shootings. (Skyhorse Publishing, Inc., 2019). She holds an MFA from Wilkes University. Amye's work has been published in Scary Mommy, Longreads, Feminine Collective, Brevity, Marie Claire, and more. Amye is mom to twin daughters and wife to Tim. She lives in Northeast Pennsylvania. Follow her at @amyearcher https://citronreview.com/2019/03/20/one-week/ #briefliterature #cheerstotenyears #amreading #TheCitronReview #creativenonfiction
We're pleased to highlight creative nonfiction from Julie Watson. "Odds Are" is now available in our Summer Issue. https://citronreview.com/2019/06/21/odds-are/ #amreading #flashcnf #summerissue #cheersto10years
Anita Goveas, @raspberrybakewell, has fiction featured in our Summer Issue. https://citronreview.com/2019/06/21/coverings/ #amreading #flashfiction #summerissue #cheersto10years
New Flash Fiction from Mary Grimm, who has published a novel, Left to Themselves and a collection of stories, Stealing Time (which are both on Random House). She teaches fiction writing at Case Western Reserve University. https://citronreview.com/…/…/21/the-dream-of-her-long-dying/ #TheCitronReview #SummerIssue #Summer2019 #flashfiction #cheersto10years

Enter your email address to follow us and receive notifications of new issues by email.

%d bloggers like this: