Sargassum

by Jenn Hollmeyer

Dark tape spills from the spools like sargassum washing up on the shore. We recorded these songs right off the radio, the announcer’s words becoming part of the lyrics forever in our minds. Here’s one I know you’ll remember. This one goes out to you. The next one’s for the Friday lunch crowd. Cue the applause track. We thought there was a real party. We thought we were missing out. Someday we’d have a way to get there and we’d hear our voices on the air. Someday someone would dedicate something to us. Sargassum sounds like sarcasm, a jockey in a soundproof studio, spinning an ocean of aspiration and releasing it in waves.

32 Wooden Penny Matches

by Jenn Hollmeyer

When they’re gone, line the little drawer with a scrap of paper from the roll your mother used to wrap your birthday gifts, back when she still gave you birthday gifts. Lay down the plastic dime-store lamb you inherited from your grandmother’s collection. Put its head on a pinch of cotton from your aspirin bottle, and tuck it in with a square cut from the want ads. Close the drawer with one finger, and place the box high on the kitchen shelf so the next time you need to burn something, you’ll remember that your fire comes from sacrifice, that when you strike your origin story against itself, it consumes you even while it lights your path.

Jenn Hollmeyer writes and paints in the Chicago area. She won the 2019 Katherine Anne Porter Prize in Short Fiction for her story collection, Orders of Protection (University of North Texas Press), and won second place in the 2021 Hal Prize competition judged by Lan Samantha Chang. Jenn’s stories and essays have appeared in AGNI Online, Shenandoah, West Branch Wired, Juked, and many other journals. She holds an MFA in writing and literature from the Bennington Writing Seminars. Read more at jennhollmeyer.com.