And So Betwixt the Two of Us, We Licked the Platter Clean by Mikki Aronoff

We first locked eyes near the hog offal stall at Brigsbee Market. His wiry frame bent over me like an inchworm in heat. When he smiled, I saw rotten teeth. An orchid, he was not. But, watching him approach, there was something about the wilt of his walk and twig of his limbs that reminded me of that long-ago time when I was lithe and vigorous as lizards, and no one wanted to change me. 

Sprat, Miss. Jack, he whispered, his limp hand pressing into the damp of mine, his fetid breath curling like ochre smoke up my nostrils. I admire the jauntiness of your jiggle. My heart and thighs wiggled and shimmied ’neath my tent-sized frock. All the daisies printed upon it floated to the ground. We knocked heads racing to pick them up and, tittering, handed each other the bouquets we gathered.

We dined together that night, mice scampering ’round our feet as he nibbled and I gnawed. Raw carrots and celery snapped as he chewed, while my teeth sank soundlessly into roasted turnips, cheddar and flesh. We offered each other morsels from our plates. Then dollops of ourselves. Try this, dear. Try that.

Mikki Aronoff advocates for animals and scribbles away in New Mexico. Her work has been long-listed for the Wigleaf Top 50 and nominated for Pushcart, Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, Best American Short Stories, and Best Microfiction, with stories in Best Microfiction 2024 and Best Small Fictions 2024.