BOND “GIRLS” PT. 1: LUCIA

Everyone loves older men and even older cities. But women
must be girls, and preferably girls from out of town. But
I’ve lived here my whole life. And when you died, I fell
asleep and dreamt of somewhere with no men and no
time. I ate creatures from the sea with no silver and no
company. I taught myself to drive, in a car with no roof
and no brand. My hair was greying, knotting in the wind,
but I did not reach out to brush it. I was alone, but I was
not left behind.

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BOND “GIRLS” PT. 2: ESTRELLA

I used to like it when you’d call me mysterious. Mysterious
is oxblood lipstick. Mysterious is ink peeking out from
a cuff. Mysterious is smoking on a rooftop that is not
yours. Mysterious is gauze curtains pooling onto the
floor. Mysterious is a faint moon while the sun is still out.
Mysterious is a languid crowd. Mysterious is wearing
roses, lace, bone. But mysterious is foreign. Mysterious is
mute. Mysterious is nude. Mysterious is being left behind
in a room that is not yours. Mysterious is being imagined.
Mysterious is an excuse to write me off.