spin your webs strong, your stories thick. send your words out from their corners
into the world and watch: they pull us along.

Summer 2025 Issue 2
REYNIE ZIMMERMAN
At a Party Before Graduation
Sitting in a circle of twenty people in the bedroom of my friend, who I can hear throwing up through the wall. The woman next to me, B, who I’ve known for almost four years tells me I want my younger sibling to meet you they just came out as nonbinary and I think you would be such a good person for them to meet they don’t really know many trans people and talking to you would be so inspirational for them like I think it would be really good if they could meet a good role model, and I’m sitting here cross-legged and pre-t, wanting to dissolve into this plastic cup filled with the contents of whatever was in the kitchen, knowing B and I have never had a single conversation about transness since I came out, but I nod and smile and say, yeah, that’s great, and look across the circle for someone else to talk to. And I never do meet her sibling, and she never talks to me one-on-one after this night. Someone mentions a party from three years ago and I’m laughing again with the group, yeah I threw up in the recycling bin, no I went home with Travis, I did so many of Abby’s peppermint patties, that was the night they put Everclear in the juice, and side conversations start popping up, so before B departs from my life she angles her knees towards me, slumps a little, looks me in the eye, and I know she’s drunk, but I still recoil when I hear her first words, I know you don’t like him, I already know where this is going, so my cup is at my lips, I’m preparing to nod along and find the nearest path out the door directly behind me, but —--- was really was such a good friend to me this last year and I miss him so much when he went vegan we cooked dinner together every day and it was so nice to have someone who wanted to make healthy meals with me and I know you don’t like him, and she starts to actually cry, like voice wavering, tears running down her face, and I can’t drink fast enough to say I need another drink yet, so she keeps talking about how wonderful a man who raped me is, but really he was so supportive to me I’ve cried so many times in front of him and he’s always listened to me and he’s always been such a great guy and I’m really just grateful to have gotten to know him, and we still talk a lot, but I miss him, you know? there’s a pause where I’m supposed to say something like, yeah that’s great, but I go silent, just kind of look back at her, and the man next to me, who doesn’t know me all that well, says Reynie, do you want another drink? I stand up after him and we walk out of the room together, my cup still half-full.
REYNIE ZIMMERMAN is a poet from Ohio. His work has appeared in Molecule: A Tiny Litmag, and will appear in BarBar and Lunch Ticket. His work often focuses on recovery paths from sexual assault and OCD, as well as the role of community in recovery.