Not the Arms
by Chad W. Lutz
Sitting at my keyboard, I look down at my arms;
They're not the arms of a teenager,
Nor are they the arms of a little boy.
Somewhere in between my second and third
Novel the scars and tissue sheathing my radius
And ulnas became worn and weathered over.
Brown moles and thick hairs pock my flesh
Doing their worst to cover bulging veins and cracked skin.
The slice on my left arm where I cut myself with a butcher knife
Still smiles mischievously up at me.
The burn mark from the marijuana pipe
I had in college has almost completely faded.
The bumpy remains of IVs inserted
During multiple hospital visits remind me I'm impermanent.
Sitting at my keyboard,
These are not the arms of a teenager,
And far from the arms of a little boy.
And tomorrow they'll shed new.
Demolition of an Old Grocery Store
by Chad W. Lutz
your only purpose
was to house vegetables
now your ruins
will slowly become them
cindered roots
grounded deep in memories
of Tupac
of Hall & Oates
of Madonna
like virgin olive oil.
smells like capitalism
where my parents
used to shop
when I was a child in the 90s
maybe
they'd let me work
the wrecking ball
then
a thought occurs
I haven't shopped there in fifteen years
perhaps I already have
Chad W. Lutz is a non-binary writer born in Akron, Ohio, in 1986 and raised in the neighboring suburb of Stow. They graduated from Kent State University with their BA in English in 2008 and from Mills College in Oakland, California, with their MFA in Creative Writing in 2018. Their first book, For the Time Being, is currently available through J. New Books. “Not the Arms” first appeared in Diverse Voices Quarterly Vol. 8, Issue 28 and “Demolition of an Old Grocery Store” in the May 2016 issue of gravel.
by Chad W. Lutz
Sitting at my keyboard, I look down at my arms;
They're not the arms of a teenager,
Nor are they the arms of a little boy.
Somewhere in between my second and third
Novel the scars and tissue sheathing my radius
And ulnas became worn and weathered over.
Brown moles and thick hairs pock my flesh
Doing their worst to cover bulging veins and cracked skin.
The slice on my left arm where I cut myself with a butcher knife
Still smiles mischievously up at me.
The burn mark from the marijuana pipe
I had in college has almost completely faded.
The bumpy remains of IVs inserted
During multiple hospital visits remind me I'm impermanent.
Sitting at my keyboard,
These are not the arms of a teenager,
And far from the arms of a little boy.
And tomorrow they'll shed new.
Demolition of an Old Grocery Store
by Chad W. Lutz
your only purpose
was to house vegetables
now your ruins
will slowly become them
cindered roots
grounded deep in memories
of Tupac
of Hall & Oates
of Madonna
like virgin olive oil.
smells like capitalism
where my parents
used to shop
when I was a child in the 90s
maybe
they'd let me work
the wrecking ball
then
a thought occurs
I haven't shopped there in fifteen years
perhaps I already have
Chad W. Lutz is a non-binary writer born in Akron, Ohio, in 1986 and raised in the neighboring suburb of Stow. They graduated from Kent State University with their BA in English in 2008 and from Mills College in Oakland, California, with their MFA in Creative Writing in 2018. Their first book, For the Time Being, is currently available through J. New Books. “Not the Arms” first appeared in Diverse Voices Quarterly Vol. 8, Issue 28 and “Demolition of an Old Grocery Store” in the May 2016 issue of gravel.