Category: Spring 2018
- May 30, 2019
Regan was the type of pretty that wins pageants, but she didn’t know that. It’s hard to guess the things Regan knew for certain. Maybe she knew how many times a butterfly could flap its wings in a day.
- May 30, 2019
The waiter was the last man to leave the restaurant. He was an unattractive man. Tall, slim, and vastly angular in his black and white uniform, he lived alone in an apartment now that his father had died. It
- May 30, 2019
Successive proposals, one arched eyebrow, two arched eyebrows, slight catch on one side of his upper lip. Then it was gone. The brick remained, a brick wall, bits of hair embroidered over the top. That man at the next
- May 14, 2019
The greased-back, blond strands hung like melting icicles dangling from an evergreen over almond colored eyes; this is what he looked like before they lowered him into the grave. His wife invited all the bill collectors to the funeral.
- May 14, 2019
She may shed persimmon feather boas, but there is no rebirth here. Under the damning spotlight she is diasporic lipstick from the pouting and wailing, Dubonnet siphoning into developing wrinkles, aged Jessica Rabbit incarnate, red nails and sagging contours,
- May 14, 2019
I found a fox elder standing under a box elder. He wore a dapple suit with a pipe in his mouth then tilted his hat to greet me. He leaned against the trunk of the tree or the tree
- May 9, 2019
Long after bedtime and long before the birds and the dawn when I could hear the furnace tick click-tick-tick from the basement, and Dad’s sleeping-sounds stumble from under the bedroom door and not even a car on the road
- May 9, 2019
Sandra’s ember-specked face fixed itself on the diminishing fire. She twitched every time a coal would crack, but still moved her lawn chair closer to the waning flames. Her husband wobbled, unsteady from excessive whiskey, out from the shed’s
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