Issue 3 of Embryo Concepts
Published on February 15, 2021
Next Morning, Picking Blueberries
By Karla Linn Merrifield In ready fruit, fruition:warm, plumpas nipplesto finger,to thumb,to palm,to tongue,once nimbly poppedin open mouth —one tender nibble—plush the explosion. I swallow blueberries wholebecause I was as I was.
Cast Iron Skillet
By Sarah Henry A TV cook says,“If you don’t havea cast iron skillet,you have no life!”He waves his ownto warn the viewers. Mine is used forbaking cornbread.Southern style lackssugar. A new typehas added protein.Another’s madesweet with honey.I want all three. I love the wetblend of eggsand cornmealsliding throughmy mouth easily.Guilty pleasuresmean carb bombs,not Keto fare.…
Blunderland
By Ben Nardolilli Trying to turn my room into a positive place,A house where yes is heard more than no,And all of the swears come from a place of joy,So far, I’m starting small, saying FUCKAnd SHIT whenever I reach a solitary climax,Then saying nothing when I stub my toe Has it made the space…
My Quarantine Birthday
By Kate Pashby we entered the virtual strip clubor rather, we all played the prerecordedstrip show at the same timehalf a dozen queers in thesolitude of our own homes I Venmoed the hottest strippera redhead with thigh-highblack boots and nipple ringsand she messaged me soon after“Was this a mistake?I don’t think we know each other”before…
Temptation
By Dana May I am a squeamish person. My body overreacts to certain triggers, causing my heart rate and blood pressure to drop suddenly. I learned the technical name for this—vasovagal syncope—following an ER visit after fainting while driving. Thinking too much about something stuck in my eye sparked that particular episode. After CAT scans,…
Window with a View
By Joseph Markell It’s dark outside. The metal window frame is cold, and I have to be careful not to breathe too heavily or too close to the glass. I don’t want to fog the window and block my view. I observe the hundreds of buildings in my view, lain out before me like dimly…
Years
*after Dick Laurie By Janice S. Fuller How do I forgive the passage of years,the melancholy of remindersas I sit in Starbucks writing. Businessmen do deals,tutors teach their students,nurses study for exams,loners treasure time alone.Espresso squirts a whssssh!Adele serenades us. Laughter, squealsof babies rocked in car seats by their mothers.Doors slam. Suddenly I’m disoriented at…