NIC ALEA
Phase: I
Did I lie about the boy tied to the
garden shed? Arms stretched out like he was the
flat line of a highway or the son of god, or did I lie
when I said he was covered in wasps but did not
die and this confused me because he bared no
welts and the sun never beat him down like a tired
horse, he just was,
as solid as the shed or the wall that
bordered the yard, he was a border, crossing in
rubber boots, wiped his sweat onto the back of my
shirt and called that art, said it was a metaphor––
for art.
196 The Paris-American
Did I lie about the boy tied to the
garden shed? Arms stretched out like he was the
flat line of a highway or the son of god, or did I lie
when I said he was covered in wasps but did not
die and this confused me because he bared no
welts and the sun never beat him down like a tired
horse, he just was,
as solid as the shed or the wall that
bordered the yard, he was a border, crossing in
rubber boots, wiped his sweat onto the back of my
shirt and called that art, said it was a metaphor––
for art.
196 The Paris-American
Nic Alea is a poet and fiction writer from California with BA in Creative Writing. She holds a fellowship from the Lambda Literary foundation, was a semi-finalist for Button Poetry’s chapbook competition for “Sad Boy Slumber Party,” and was voted one of SF Weekly’s 2014 “Best Writers without a Book.” Nic has performed at the National Queer Arts Festival and has work featured in journals such as Muzzle Magazine, The Legendary, Rattle, and Write Bloody. She currently lives and writes in Melbourne, Australia.
