Stephanie Hutton
Special Issue: Triptych

A Triptych by Stephanie Hutton

Before I married, I was a plume of gas. His hands grasped through me. Slowly, slowly, I set into that which can be held. Or be hurt. My cracked lips taste of summer on the turn. I press on raised veins on the backs of my hands, trace a map of mortality along my skin. Never to return to a noble gas, perhaps I can cling to another to become a compound.

A row of women standing in a line, the view is cropped to show only legs.