Tenderness

Is This or Is This True as Happiness When we finally make it, we sit on cold stones. The river curling over and under our feet even colder. His secret place. The air has that early fall smell, things beginning to rot, the wet soil nourishing itself. We're trespassing. Anything could happen to me in this white ass town. I'm terrified if he knows that and terrified if he doesn't. My body is puffy, unremarkable. I've grown distant and sullen. A witch told me gin placates the dead. Whose dead have I been trying to drown drinking my own elegy? He asks if I'm happy, and I say yes. See how easy it is to get here , he says. Yes , I say. But you have to take me back . Excerpted from Tenderness by Derrick Austin All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.