ryan norman


Comes too fast like morning’s

fog that crawls across your teeth when

it’s summer and not the hot

girl type that makes you reflect on

the sweat full of is this it and will it last:

your bloodied worries never

stopping with dignity or

pride in your summer body, but

it’s the light that keeps the spirits

in their fiery dance, never shadow,

never the blanket full of winter’s

weight, yet wait, please, for the doors

to close on the Devil’s Lamborghini before

you give into the dread, the tap on a window,

a coercive hand inspecting your surface because,

fuck, it’s Hell and you’ll never see a star dip

in the night sky, the one thing that’s always

kept you coming back night after night for

all these years, and the hum of rubber on

basalt-paved roads that keep you salty

endlessly, always, forever driven by thirst

for sunlight on skin but there’s no

more sun. Not here in this car. Not here

behind this summer slicked smile.

Ryan Norman (he/him) is a queer writer from New York living in the Hudson Valley. Ryan enjoys swimming in mountain lakes and climbing tall things. He is a contributing editor of creative nonfiction with Barren Magazine. His work has appeared in X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine, Black Bough Poetry, Hobart, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. He has two chapbooks I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A BOND GIRL (Daily Drunk Press) and CICADA SONG (Finishing Line Press). You can find him on Twitter @RyanMGNorman or ryanmgnorman.com.