I’ll sit with her for a while, watch ice become part of a different matter, us becoming less ourselves, and more like our counterparts. The ones we order everyplace we go, from dive bars to cantinas to champagne brunches. Lou Ella’s been ordering gin with two rocks since she was fourteen—her brother’s idea to make her sound older than she was, it worked, her mouth smelled like artificial pine trees since the day a locomotive split her daddy’s car in two, since the day the doctor scraped her womb clean with objects she only felt the shapes of, since Papa Lou felt the toe of her rhinestone studded boots one too many times in the head until there was no one left but herself. There were certain things you lived with, and certain things you lived without.
Erica Hoffmeister was born in Southern California, and now lives in Denver Colorado, where she no longer can distinguish between the mountains or desert feeling more like home. She has had work published in So To Speak, Split Lip Magazine, Rat's Ass Review, and Literary Mama, among others. She also received an honorable mention in both the Lorian Hemingway prize for short fiction, as well as the Janet B. McCabe prize for poetry, and was nominated for 2017 Best of the Net.