Open in Fifteen by Derek JG Williams
“My arms are full of so many arms and legs”
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Two tourists watch me peel a skirt from sexless hips. Through the glass storefront I see them sip coffee from recyclable cups. With steam pouring from their mouths and nostrils, well-dressed dragons in business-casual watch me like cats watch birds. And no, I’m not polite when undressing mannequins; manners are for the moneyed, and I’ve got work to do.
Removing flesh-tone arms and legs, the pile swells grotesquely. As if the bodies trapped in a cave of limbs were fighting, desperate for saving. I don’t bother to unzip before removing their skirts. I shuck them off like they’re alive and I’m alive and it’s been weeks since I’ve been laid. Because we open in fifteen minutes, courtesy is for those with time to spare. I’ve got work to do.
I’m twenty-three years old. I do this every day, waltz with bodies who’ve never known a lover’s breath on their back. Or held their mother’s hand as she lay in a hospital bed with doctors circling over her like gulls.
The tourists have gone. The sidewalk is empty. My arms are full of so many arms and legs. But I carry the headless torsos individually, my arms around each belly, my neck against each cheek, and I am sick for them. They will never know this feeling.
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