The demon in the hallway mirror paints like Bosch, its view of our world is a magical thing. For
example, I am half-nightmare, half-pomegranate in its many, blind eyes and my wallpaper radiates
mirth. I bring it a banana, it paints the growing of grass; I bring it a picture of my late grandmother,
it paints a laughing giraffe. I have asked it why it paints the world from mirrors but any response
comes in Aramaic or Sumerian, or Hittite, and I have yet to master my native tongue.
The Sweetest of Teeth
I used to fish with my grandfather on the banks of the river, we would dip our hooks in honey and
cast them in without bait because — according to him — fish are like us and have the sweetest of
I anoint myself with purest honey, cleansing the demons of daylight from my papery skin; ladle
after ladle, I lather my body with nature's sweetest gold and pray, forming familiar words through
my thickening lungs.
Sean Cunningham writes: "I am twenty-three, from Liverpool, and currently studying for a BA in English Literature. My writing consists of very short poetry and prose. My prose has been featured in the Eastern Iowa Review and the Indiana Review Online, and my poetry in Moonchild Magazine."