On a trip home to visit my aging parents, I walked past the open door to their bedroom, where my mother crawled on her hands and knees atop the mattress, sweeping her hands beneath the crumpled bedsheets, tucking them under the mess of blankets, tossing pillows aside, searching for something. She faced away from the door and was unaware of my presence until I asked if I could help. Asked what she was looking for. My lost virginity, she grunted before turning, plopping herself into a sitting position, and laughed. She held out her hand, which clutched her upper denture.
Anne Anthony, editor and art director for the literary journal Does It Have Pockets, lives in North Carolina. Find more of her writing here: linktr.ee/anchalastudio. Bluesky, Instagram, Facebook, Substack: @anchalastudio