Allison Tunstall

It’s the Little Things | Bev Fesharaki

My nickname, scrawled on the picture of a naked woman on her knees. The shame. Little things.     It’s the chubby fourth grade boy who hollered “fat four eyes”. I wear contacts, suck in my stomach, don’t recognize the thin woman in the mirror. The bully who snapped my training bra, bellowed, “You’re ...

Museum Girl | Caralyn Roeper

A taxidermist, he fills my body With stiffening thoughts To keep me from running away. “You’re an exhibitionist,” he says As I lead him through the hallowed hallways of my history. He walks, heavy-footed Leaving dirty footprints on my timeline While trespassing over my topography. He had the pleasure ...