Back Already Clytemnestra

by Anthony Martin

Last night the bedroom philodendron turned into my mother. She asked if I had a minute to talk, just one chuffing minute, to tell me that it was fine enough, the dead life, if only these other spooks would call once in a while. My silence she took for an invitation to expand, so I listened until she resumed the form of an underfed house plant. My arms and legs filled with blood in the moonglow. For a while, I wondered how long she’d been watching me sleep. I wondered if she cared that I’d been waiting for this all along.

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Anthony Martin lives in San Diego. His words have appeared in BULL, Lunch Ticket, Clarion, and elsewhere. Check out his website and follow him on X.