You are reading an archived issue of Sleet Magazine. To return to the current issue, click here.


Dana Jean Rider


What am I? I conceal from you my truest form. What am I? I lurk behind the trees at night. All of them. I leave your faucet on to drip, drip, drip. I giggle when you try to fix it. What am I? I dance in time with the flames of every bonfire. You only seem to notice when you’ve had a few. I tie your shoes when they’re off your feet, but it seems like such a small worry that you don’t spend time wondering about it. What am I? Sometimes I nestle in your ear canal. I don’t like the smell of the waxiness, but it’s warm, and that way I can whisper inappropriate things to you at inopportune moments. What am I? My skin is not soft, but instead jagged and scaly. My head turns all the way around! You never seem to notice my love bites, but they’re not very nice. What in the world could I be? Do you think you know?

I know you’re waiting for some philosophical answer to make sense of my riddles, but sadly, my dearest friend, I have no answer for you. You’ll just have to find out what I am in time. I’m so excited.

Dana has been a language enthusiast since Catholic school teachers yelled at her for swearing in middle school. She writes mostly flash and short stories, and in her precious free time reads and plays with her pet rabbit. Presently, she is a grant writer a nonprofit and is applying to graduate school.
home  • current issue  • archives  • submissions  • us