by Amy DeBellis
Because when you had a bonfire she forgot to bring her older brother’s beer like she’d promised and you ended up having to walk to the sketchy deli that wouldn’t ask for ID. Because she never gave back the earrings she borrowed and claimed they were lost, but a week later you opened Instagram and saw her wearing them, their clustered opals glowing like shrunken moons around her face. Because she started blogging incessantly about K-Pop. Because she started doing this thing when she talked like she was flattening out her vowels and frying them on an ironing board. Because David Bowie died. Because the insects aren’t a nuisance in your mother’s garden anymore. Because the birdsong is thinning out. Because the supply chains are teetering and the world is burning. Because when you leaned in to kiss her at the bonfire she kissed you back but she also laughed and said something that sounded like fag, and even though you don’t drink beer anymore you can still taste the cheap sour metal of it, the filthy pennies collecting underneath your tongue.
Amy DeBellis is a writer from New York. Her debut novel is forthcoming from CLASH Books (2024). Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in various publications including The Shore, Pithead Chapel, Maudlin House, Luna Luna Magazine, and Anti-Heroin Chic.
Emerge Literary Journal 