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Crystal Cox

Cathexis

Honestly, I probably dream about your ex-girlfriend
more than you do.
 
Last night, after you kissed my lips into dry kernels,
I dreamt of her
 
emerging from my bathroom in nothing but a towel,
the steam plumping her
 
skin into supple imagination, the bottom of her asscheeks
poking out a little like mine.
 
Once, a friend of yours said I kind of look like her,
which isn’t really saying
 
much. I look like most white women who’ve learned
to wield an eyelash curler.
 
But, I’ll admit, ever since I keep wondering whether
she wears waterproof mascara
 
and if she has to toss a leg up the tub to shave her insides
or if when she texts you sweetie <3 it
 
makes your words hard. Once, you offered me her old makeup wipes,
and I refused. I wanted to exit
 
the shower looking like I’d earned battle wounds. But memories never cut,
they just smudge. Mirrors are worse,
 
they see me too much all at once or not at all. In the post-shower
blur, I could be her.
 
In my shut raccoon eyes, I could be anyone.

Biography

Picture
Crystal Cox is a MFA candidate at the University of Idaho and the managing editor for Fugue. She was a finalist for the 2021 Francine Ringold Award for New Writers, and her work is forthcoming in Nimrod. Originally from Missouri, she now lives in Idaho with her two guinea pigs and a bunch of half-dead houseplants.
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ISSN 2639-426X
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  • Home
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    • Issue 50
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    • Issue 46
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    • Issue 44
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    • Issue 34
    • Issue 33
    • Issue 32
    • Issue 31
    • Issue 30
    • Issue 29
    • Issue 28
    • Issue 27
    • Issue 26
    • Issue 25
    • Issue 24
    • Issue 23
    • Issue 22
    • Issue 21
    • Issue 20
    • Issue 19
    • Issue 18
    • Serenity
    • Issue 17
    • The Audio Room
    • Issue 16
    • Issue 15
    • Issue 14
    • Play It Again
    • Issue 13
    • Issue 12
    • Issue 11
    • Issue 10
    • Issue 9
    • Issue 8
    • Issue 7
    • Issue 6
    • Hand to Mouth
    • Issue 5
    • Issue 4
    • Issue 3
    • Issue 2
    • Issue 1
  • Submissions