A Bright Spark In The Distance by Alyssa Jordan

                       lauren rushing CC



A Bright Spark in the Distance


Sometimes you think 
about North Carolina, the boys 
with the dimpled smiles
and tattooed arms hooking 
around your shoulder.

One was all burnt gold hair 
and rippling skin and crooked 
little smiles. 

You asked him to teach you 
to defend yourself--
that moment like a red glow,
when your arms locked behind,
his chest to your back
body bent low 
over yours.

His half thought, half murmured, 
I could do anything to you like this.

The thing is, 
you wanted him to. 
You still do. 

Some nights you burn 
at the thought, blood rushing to cheeks 
and other places
that clench.

You think about the shunt, that hole 
in his head with only 
a thin patch of skin. 

On a couch
he once said you could feel
for yourself. So you braced above
him, ran fingers through his hair, 
traced the bumps and ridges of the shunt 
that pushed at skin. 

You thought he would take you 
just like that, arms on either side of your head, 
heavy body above you, all around you, 
pushing 
in--

On the couch
your finger pads quickened over him, 
bruising his membrane, 
digging into skin. Years later 
you will map your skull
feeling for a glow
from within. 

​

Alyssa Jordan is a writer living in the United States. She pens literary horoscopes for F(r)iction Series. Her stories can be found or are forthcoming in The Sunlight Press, X–R-A-Y Literary Magazine, Fiction Kitchen Berlin, and more. When she's not writing, she's hanging out with her partner or watching too many movies. You can find her on Twitter @ajordan901 and Instagram @ajordanwriter.

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