April 1, 2015

Meg Pokrass


"No, this time I'm really listening," she said. At least she pretended to listen while her husband talked openly about how much he wanted to sleep with his yoga teacher and why this was better than okay, very life affirming, and very freeing. He was a psychiatrist and considered himself to be "mindful". He drank chia water and ate Buddha bars. He fasted on liquid greenery. He was in tip-top shape.

She imagined a leggy young woman doing a headstand naked in front of him and could not entirely focus as her husband explained to her the benefits of being an active, polyamorous metrosexual.

It was true, she was not very mindful. She didn't really think it mattered. She was forty years old and nothing about her would change. She'd given up trying to be skinny and adorable for him since her foot shattered like glass under a Segway in Golden Gate Park on the Fourth of July. These days, her lips were cracked and her pelvis felt cold.

She tried to imagine what an incredibly flexible young woman might see in her husband, a man with glasses so thick they deserved curtains. A man with hemorrhoids who could not decide if he liked beets in salad, who cleared his throat compulsively at the movies and had trouble looking directly at waiters.

"Let's talk about this amorous thing later, discuss it further," she said. "I'm sorry for making such quick assessments and shit."

"Okay dokey," he said. "Running late now. Be a good girl."

She spooned with her cat as soon as he left. She enjoyed the sensation of her own breathing folded into the deep purr.


The stories of Meg Pokrass have appeared in over 200 literary magazines and numerous anthologies, including Flash Fiction International. Two story collections, Damn Sure Right and Bird Envy are available now, as is her novella, My Very End of the Universe, which is included in Five Novellas-in-Flash from Rose Metal Press. Another collection, The Dog Looks Happy Upside Down, is due out from Etruscan Press in 2016.

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