New York Tyrant

How to Make Love, by Geeta Tewari

Rachel Sherman

How to Make Love, by Geeta Tewari

ARTWORK: "BEING A WIFE AND MOTHER" BY ELIZABETH KELNER POZENClose your eyes in the beginning, while you stroke him, and imagine he initiated this time. Touch yourself where you seek touching most longingly. Pretend you are a stronger woman than you actually are, that you do not need something as petty as reciprocity. Do not initiate more than once every two weeks, so that you will not feel as shamed afterwards as you would have if you had restrained yourself to the twice a week that blogs recommend. Say “O.K.” in front of the bathroom mirror after you have applied...


ANSELMO, by Rob Sobel

Rachel Sherman

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ANSELMO, by Rob Sobel

The boy hasn’t seen a dawn in years, not since high school when he’d run two miles before a brief breakfast (always toast with fake butter), running again out the door into the cold after the hot shower he could never get out of. November dawns in preparation for basketball tryouts, unforgivingly the day after Thanksgiving. He remembers those dawns, those bluish heavy-eyed mornings, running in sweatshirts, those cold, throat-tightening breaths like the few serious injuries that have plagued him in his personal history, just as visceral and stinging, like the glass ripping open his arm that one time, the...


ROSE, by Mimi Lok

Rachel Sherman

ROSE, by Mimi Lok

After many days and nights, Rose arrives in the city with snow-edged shoulders. “I came down from the mountains,” she tells the strangers, by way of explaining the snow, “and my name is Rose.” “Rose what?” they ask, though not unkindly--they are simply curious because not only is she young and clean, she is radiant with newness and mystery, and because it is the desert and there are no mountains and yet she has snow on her shoulders. “Smith,” she says, for her real name is one that raises questions and a need for story, and she does not want...


A Social Philosophy, by Cyan Perry

Rachel Sherman

A Social Philosophy, by Cyan Perry

ART BY HOPE GANGLOFFI sat and sipped my way through my first beer, and began to feel a little looser. A breeze blew across the outdoor patio section of the bar, I could feel my chest prickle against the fibers of my T-shirt. I had just shaved off my chest hair for the first time, before heading out for the night. It had continued to get thicker and thicker as I grew older, and I hadn’t been able to decide what was less fashionable: not shaving, or caring so much that I’d have to spend an extra twenty minutes in...


NO MATTER WHICH WAY WE TURNED, by Brian Evenson

Rachel Sherman

NO MATTER WHICH WAY WE TURNED, by Brian Evenson

From the Spring 2016 Issue of PEOPLE HOLDING   No matter which way we turned the girl, she didn’t have a face.  There was hair in front and hair in the back—only saying which was the front and which was the back was impossible.  I got Jim Slip to look on one side and I looked from the other and the other members of the lodge just tried to hold her gently or not so gently in place, but no matter how we looked or held her the face just wasn’t there.  Her mother was screaming, blaming us, but what...


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