1674 8 3
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I walked on hot coals. She got ahead of me. (228 words)
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167463
|
“3.9 million dollars,” she whispered to the window.
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167483
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45s I’ve kept wrapped in newspaper in the attic. These are all mine. Some doubling up in sleeves. Some pushing tears in the seams.
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1674137
|
Eons later, Bobo evolves into Shakespeare. Bonus feature: wings.
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16742913
|
Cinnamon and smoke
infuse the days that shorten,
chill, accelerate.
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167400
|
Once upon a time, not so long ago in Los Angeles, Jack and Jill Woodman’s father remarried.
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167455
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“Dear, baby, what do you fear?”
Or maybe it was, “Now here are the keys to the lock.”
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167300
|
Some say the simurgh is an enormous bird with four wings, teeth, and a human face, able to carry off an elephant in her talons.
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16731813
|
Rough sonnet about faded love
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167376
|
I'm a librarian. A reader. I identify as a four-eyed person. I've always worn glasses. I got my first pair in the second grade. It was a miracle! The blurry world I'd inhabited all my life suddenly came into focus. I could see the blackboard! I could read street signs! I…
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16732510
|
Tendering these stalks, making the pie, heralds me a holder of apron strings...
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167311
|
I. The girl within the sleeping woman dreams her dream of ending. To her comes the cowgirl with no kids: she's riding high atop her turquoise horse, steady by its braided mane. Silver pistols holstered. The girl in the woman in the dream she's dreaming…
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16732914
|
You say boxer briefs, I say pillbox hats
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167354
|
It was Brad, for short; or so he would say. But really his name was Bradford, and he was a writer. He had almost always lived in New York. He was only half-white. His mother had run away with a black man in the sixties. Her father had told her to never come back to…
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1672164
|
He ran his forefinger round the rim of the lid then sucked at his fingertip. The texture's like chalk, he thought, it tastes of earth. He hadn't anticipated this — but dipped his finger in again and swallowed. It was like scraping his tongue against a blackboard on…
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167294
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1672122
|
i miss you/
at times unbearably/
a dull ache that won’t quit
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1672103
|
“No one likes an indecisive sexual partner.”
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167220
|
This is an older story that was inspired by research on naming conventions while trying to find record of my own ancestors in the Ukraine. I did not find them. Instead I was inspired to write this.
|
167211
|
Once, when I had not talked to you in a long time, I woke with your name in my mouth.
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167230
|
I was a Cub Scout, and the face of God was a joke that was told to my little pack. The joke went as thus:
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167200
|
Poppy de Witte was content to spend her summers in Cape Cod, where her family owned a small beach house considerably less stifling than their spacious apartment on Park Avenue.
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167232
|
[THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN EDITED FOR CONTENT, AND TO RUN IN THE TIME ALLOTTED.]
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1672188
|
Overnight, I felt drunk, as if headed for hangover, but I hadn't drunk enough to cause it. What caused it? Superstitions dialed in sleep.
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167164
|
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16712214
|
I thought each day died inside the clock.
|
167187
|
I usually idle by Spades Check Cashing on 8th Ave. and catch folks that way. The Homestead cops, they moved stations from a little up Amity to down on 7th, which is closer to Spades, but they leave me alone. I've drove jitneys almost ten years. Only been cited twice,…
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16712315
|
Pa grasps my fingers, odd because he's never held my hand and he's dead ten years anyway.
|
167132
|
I want to talk like Rose Tyler, and be whisked away by the strapping Docor, preferably in David Tennant form.
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167176
|
She loved me once. When we were young and the world revolved slowly in our hands. She never said as much, but she did. I knew by the way she moved, the looks, the whispers in the dead of night that carried only to my ears. We spent weeks on that beach in…
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