Annual pelvic ultrasound
A poem by Lisa DeSiro
Usually in the waiting room there’s at least one
woman with a baby-bulge and a man.
I assume those lucky ladies get the same squirt of gel,
the same sensor sliding over their bellies.
A short story by Glenna Anne Turnbull
I’m sitting here staring at the Marathon Mom. I hate her. Her glossy magazine smiles up at me as if she’s just conquered the world.
A poem by Bron Bateman
At twenty, I have: my first child,
Bruising, soft and black as summer plums,
From the base of my belly to the middle of my thighs,
and a second-degree burn inside my vagina.
A short story by Natalie Abbott
Eleanor stood on the empty landing, her fingers curled around the stem of an even emptier glass of champagne. Her wrinkled eyes looked up at the display piece that evening for the Mercurial Arts Gallery.
tittyfucking after the marriage
A poem by Adrienne Christian
we do it on the floor.
his belt binding my boobs.