Revenant
Imran Khan Last night’s celebration spools knots in my chest. As I sniff singed plastic, the rusted husk of discarded metal is a monument in my femur. They wheel me into a motel parking lot that gifts complementary condoms on the second night. I am the lightweight they felled and fitted into their neighbour’s dumpster, a slick measure to avoid a dead man turning statue of witness, hauling anchor in a DEA office. You jingle keys on the sidewalk, I envisage you distorted into something that doesn’t match my memory, dealers thrumming your blood with feral thread. But there is hope in this tension. I hallucinate a woman howling face down on a broken mirror. The lid lifts, perfume slaloms overhead. |
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About the Author: Imran Khan teaches creative writing in Dorset. His work has recently appeared, or is forthcoming, in the Rumpus, Menacing Hedge, Juked, The Puritan and Rust and Moth. Khan is a previous winner of the Thomas Hardy Award. He can be found at: https://www.facebook.com/ImranBoeKhan