She Could Run

by Kim Chinquee

The blinds were up, the heat pushing under curtains. She’d didn’t bring the prescription, though somewhere was vodka. Cheetos, popcorn, tacos. Her suitcase was open and her shoes were running. Broken and waiting, and the journal was also open. The shots went bang and bangbang. She turned off the TV, and looked through the peephole, finding nothing magnified. Black, though it could have been snow. It got quiet and she was alone. Her father was lonely. There was always nothing to say but it used to be screaming. It stuck. She wanted to: Get out! The door froze with the wind. It blew, and she pushed, banging it hip.

Kim Chinquee is the author of Oh Baby (Ravenna Press) and the forthcoming collection Pretty (White Pine Press), and is co-editor of the forthcoming Online Writing: Best of the First Ten Years. She is the recipient of a Pushcart Prize and lives in Buffalo, New York.

Back to Issue Two: Winter 2009