Collision

On the day of my funeral, I hid my favorite body parts. Buried my heart underneath a moon rock. Stuffed my eyeballs in the carved sockets of a snowman. Planted a lock of hair in the Great Barrier Reef. My mother was so sad. She ate rainbow fudge ice cream in my honor, scraping melted remnants with a spoon. I told her where she’d find my arms—woven into tree branches of the monkey exhibit at the zoo. She was the monkeys’ only winter visitor, hugging her bundled self as branches, long and bare, curled out through the cage bars.

 

Marisela Navarro is a writer and pharmacist living in Boston, Massachusetts. Her fiction has appeared in Matchbook and Shelflife Magazine, and she is a contributor to Draft: The Journal of Process. Currently, she is in the M.F.A. creative writing program at Emerson College, where she is working on her first short story collection and revising her first novel. She also critiques her own childhood stories at mariselanavarro.tumblr.com.

 

3 Responses to “Collision”

  1. Mike says:

    Sadly quirky.

  2. Caty-Scarlett Coleman says:

    *jaw drops* AMAZING.

  3. Diego M Sieiro says:

    Gorgeous piece. 🙂

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