My six-year-old daughter, Harper, has frequently stood next to my desk the last few weeks and picked up vol. 3 of The Conium Review and said, “Mommy, I can’t believe you are reading this.” She’s referring to the pictures of ants on the cover. Just two on the front, but a countless splattering of them are on the back. They’re larger than my thumbnail and the shadows they cast give them a 3-D perspective so that every time I pick the journal up I’d have to remind myself, “Not real. Not real. Not real.”
“I know, aren’t they creepy?” I’ve said to Harper while she pushes a finger on each ant, her shoulders shrugged towards her ears and her teeth clenched. She would never smoosh an ant with her bare finger (she won’t even do it with a shoe), but they look so real that I can tell her imagination is blurred. What if they were real? What if a swarm of ants the length of my big toe covered the book I was reading? What would I do?
I’m reviewing literary journals for The Review Review, and my first one is up today. Come have a look?
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