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perhappened mag
issue 3: HEATWAVE

a two-story house with
yellow siding is on fire

HANNAH CAJANDIG-TAYLOR
When my carapace ashes away, I fail to write 
about spaghetti trees. Instead, fixate on how 
burning something is only considered arson

if the act is deliberate. Try not to think 
about rigor mortis. My obsession with words 
like combustion & chandeliers uncharred 

into foyer carpet. In this dream, the world 
can breathe. Smoke doesn’t paint itself 
with the sadness of others. Candles dance 

in an iron circle, suspended over unbroken 
floorboards, my body moving towards shadow 
walls. No. This doesn’t hurt. I’ve never been burned 

without pouring the gasoline. Without climbing 
the stairs before dream-sailing from an attic window 
blown out by dream-flames, silhouette dissipating 
​
into butane sky, chest ablaze in the shape of home.

Hannah Cajandig-Taylor is a poet/flash writer residing in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where she reads for Passages North and Fractured Lit. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Hobart Pulp, Milk Candy Review, Xray Lit, and Kissing Dynamite, among others. She's been nominated for a Best Small Fictions Award and still plays Nancy Drew games on her computer.
perhappened mag
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header photo: keagan henman (unsplash)

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