The Deep End by Annalise Lozier The sun bobbed in the sky like a peach in the water. We sunk below the surface and you were the apex of a triangle. With the light slicing past you, I was hidden in your faded glow, a planet in the dusk; and my fingernails, which my dad said made me look like a homeless goth looked to you like worn-down continents hidden in the binding of an atlas. Your face falls apart like tissue paper, dark purple and melting in the past. I can never really picture your nose and I can’t say how often I’ve mistaken your smile with the pointy chin of the man in the moon, but your silhouette still burns on my eyelids. You’ll be relieved to know I don’t love you, cross my heart and burn out my eyes. Your fingers pushed through my chest like it was so much dust, you tapped the metal hatch to ask if anyone was home, but there wasn’t-- it was only me and a few gray teeth. underbridge she had a face like sarcasm, her teachers said she scraped the paint off the walls when she skirted too close to the edge of the room under her shoulder blades she could pull back the muscle and untangle the tendons the tendons wrapped around her bones played with her joints like a rubik’s cube                               when she spoke she looked               towards the windows or at the wormy yarn knit its fingers into sweaters she laughed loudly to cover the cracking sounds her spine made she laughed with her teeth bared she had a face...