How To Plan For A Better Spring by Richard Lawson
1. Move. In January. Move into a new apartment high in the sky that you have to walk up six flights to get to. Have it be small, have it be full of your sibling’s furniture, your sibling who moved away from this small place to the big wide yawn of California. Have it be haunted by their ghost, by strange noises, by loud neighbors who shout like murderers at football games, who scream with strange pain when they climax with hookers. (Yes, they have to be hookers. They can’t be girlfriends. These women, these girls, have to sound young in the hallway through your door, they have to seem smoky and lazy, they should probably be named Dina, but they can have other names too.)
Gift by Jennifer Penkethman
When I went back to the apartment one night I saw something in the middle of the room.
The thing was coming up from the floor, growing right through the carpet. The floor around it had peeled away a little, not wanting to crowd it. The rest of the room had clearly made room for this thing.
It looked like a tiny green arm.