Julia Gerhardt is a writer living in Baltimore. She was nominated for the Best Microfiction Anthology 2020 and Best Small Fictions Anthology 2020. She has previously been published in Queen Mob’s Teahouse, The Umbrella Factory, The Airgonaut, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Cease, Cows, Literary Orphans, Rogue Agent, Flash Fiction Magazine, Monkeybicycle, and others. Her work is forthcoming in the Eastern Iowa Review, fresh.ink, Moonpark Review, Okay Donkey, Club Plum, Feminist Space Camp, and Rat’s Ass Review. She is currently working on her first novel. You can find her at https://juliagerhardtwriter.wordpress.com/

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Her Lips

the nurse scrubbed/ loose skin/ off my grandma’s lips/ they only knew of water and love/ i know this because that’s all they spoke: water/ Julie/ water/ mommy/ giving her cream/ for her lips/she pursed them/ ready for lipstick/ like she was about to go out/ like she was twenty-two/ like she wasn’t in the room at all/ they put the mask back on/ oxygen rushed into her/ like when your head is out the window on a freeway/ it always felt so free to me/ i always thought i was part dog/ the way i leaned my head out/ the wind/ a hand/ fiddling with my fly aways / it’s a trap!/ it’s a trap!/ my grandma knew that/ she knew everything/ everything

~~

Your Arm
your arm was bleed-
ing, bleed-ING! &
you act-ed like no
thing was wrong
but it was all wrong.
it bled slow/quick
like a dream
where you
build a world
in six seconds;
it bled a thin
line. a red line.
there is no-
thing special
about you,
not there.
i clean-ed
you with water
and i felt closer
to you than a
kiss. i threw the
tissue away.
you spoke
of a girl who
ran around
the court
flirt-ing
with all
the boys
play-ing
ball when
you fell.
today
i woke up
worri-ed
for you—
where is
your blood
now?

~~