Issue 35, Final Fringe

From Bombyonder

by Reb Livingston Issue 35 06.24.2013

You don’t want to hear about marriage

You don’t want to hear about marriage, but you’re going to get it, you’re going to get insurance, you’re going to get the girl too, the power you’re going to get is negligible, you’re going to get married.


Samples of food, worried that you’re calm, presumably, second thoughts, you’re a very old woman, Rauan, you think these are rental agents, they’re marriage healers, they’re going to expect you to do the laundry, they’re not sure of your daughter’s gender, she could be accepted as a boy, love is love, disappointment in a burst of light.

Living among towers and juice boxes, blended families, retelling this story feels over and agitated, like escaping from prison by letter bomb, what else escaped and expects to get caught?

You’ve accepted before speaking, this unwritten manuscript has already been accepted for publication, you don’t want to be accepted, you haven’t accepted my friend request, wink, wave, you’re such a sad faker, boo hoo, veiled brother.

This wave knocks you down, if that wave comes you’ll be dead, wave and drive off, I’ll wave you through, don’t acknowledge it, acknowledge you’re missing, acknowledge this is a dare, wave and smile, Rauan, turn on the camera and smile, you know how to dance, now freeze, now tell me, one more time, what are you doing here?

Rauan, who was never right

Rauan, who was never right, rains, and I’m wishing I would have checked the weather first.

Rauan, who was never subtle, rains and seeps through the crack that was too frightened to break any mother’s back.

Rauan, who never owned property, rains, making houses cave, cave homes full of pantless men fighting Rauan’s rain with the power pulsing between their echoing thighs.

Rauan, who weeps like a goosebump, rains on the worms, on the snakes and lizards who yip their postcards straight to a ribcage of lark.

Rauan, who knows my heart, rains on my heart, tells me he’s peeing, tells me he could be persuaded to stop or he could continue and dissolve it all.

These selections are from a novel, Bombyonder, which is comprised of short fiction, poems, diary entries, and lists. Synopsis: Woman swallows a bomb in pill form (invented by her father), barfs up a dead bird, and embarks on an excavation layered with murder, patricide, matricide, preconception abortion, and ancestral torment, along with a parrot-faced cat girl, a boy on a donkey, a terrifyingly handsome lover, Rauan the unconceived brother, a straight-texting friend who lives in a box inside a box, and Medusa.

Reb Livingston

Reb Livingston

Read More

Reb Livingston is the author of God Damsel (No Tell Books, 2010) and Your Ten Favorite Words (Coconut Books, 2007). When she’s not writing, she curates the Bibliomancy Oracle (