West Trestle Review
  • Home
  • Current Issue
  • Past Issues
    • January 2023
    • November 2022
    • September 2022
    • July 2022
    • May 2022
    • March 2022
    • January 2022
    • November 2021
    • September 2021
    • July 2021
    • May 2021
    • March 2021
    • January 2021
    • November 2020
    • September 2020
    • July 2020
  • Cross-Ties
  • Silver Tongue Saturdays
  • About
    • Arrivals & Departures
    • Masthead
    • Submit
    • Join Our Team
    • Archive >
      • Jane Beal
      • Beverly Burch
      • Kathleen Gunton
      • Connie Gutowsky
      • Priscilla Lee
      • Irene Lipshin
  • Home
  • Current Issue
  • Past Issues
    • January 2023
    • November 2022
    • September 2022
    • July 2022
    • May 2022
    • March 2022
    • January 2022
    • November 2021
    • September 2021
    • July 2021
    • May 2021
    • March 2021
    • January 2021
    • November 2020
    • September 2020
    • July 2020
  • Cross-Ties
  • Silver Tongue Saturdays
  • About
    • Arrivals & Departures
    • Masthead
    • Submit
    • Join Our Team
    • Archive >
      • Jane Beal
      • Beverly Burch
      • Kathleen Gunton
      • Connie Gutowsky
      • Priscilla Lee
      • Irene Lipshin
Search by typing & pressing enter

YOUR CART

Aiyana Masla

Glimmerers

i. Soft boiled eggs clink together in hot water.

ii. Your face, pulling close. Plum jam, beet juice & melted butter running purple down
my fingers, leaving a streaky stain on your chin, neck. Sticky breath, gray owl,
grasshopper, yellow trees, evening. Slow dancing with you to the sound of crickets.

iii. A body decaying. A body to protect.

iv. My want, I am not afraid of you. Not naive that I will lose you, either. You sit by my
thin legs extended under the heavy blanket. Your hand rests on my knee. The place that
bends. You are facing the window. I watch your back as you breathe.

v. You take care of me. The window is open.

vi. Now I hold your warm hand. Proud, closely, walk slow along the town’s main street.
We walk together, against all odds.

vii. Fire
​
viii. we are letting ourselves.

Woman with purple bob and glasses wearing a t-shirt that reads,
Aiyana Masla is the author of the chapbook Stone Fruit (Bottlecap Press, 2020).  Her work has appeared in Cordella Press, Field Notes, in the collection So Many Ways to Draw a Ghost, and elsewhere. Aiyana grew up in a rural hill town, and is now living in New York city. She is an interdisciplinary artist and anti bias educator who's been managing chronic illness.

Art: The Old Slaughterhouse, Now a Café, oil on canvas, Rebecca Pyle
  
Powered by Women