1454 7 7
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We are/no more than heartbeats on repeat.
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145496
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Soon everyone will know what is coming.You cast a spell of heaviness and I crumple, horizontal. Like Aurora, sleep is my destiny.Tantalus in reverse, my curse from food forever I will flee, while everything changes;discomfort and…
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145431
|
Fat robins are chirping –
loudly – at 4 a.m.
They’re trying to delude
the worms into thinking it’s
dawn already
The worms get up underground
They’re grumpy, they
bump into things
They come up to the surface
and Wham! That
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145411
|
Puddles—not his real name, as you’ve probably gathered, but the kind of nickname a fat kid got tagged with in our neighborhood—kept stopping short, picking underwear out of his ass or taking a breather. This had the unfortunate byproduct of my crashing in
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1454189
|
|
145464
|
Everybody needs a flaw or two. It builds character.
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14542311
|
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145421
|
A look flashed across his face as if someone had hooked up his genitals to a car battery.
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145475
|
...the daffodils will fling/
their yellow petals, taunting winter
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145463
|
It’s that laugh of hers that gets me...
|
145422
|
What becomes the identity of a woman who has been denied all her rights and thrown into a mental institution?
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145431
|
On the news they said that there was a baby born in a stable. There are rumours that he may be the son of God but initial reports are unconfirmed.
|
145463
|
The Assistant is lost again in a grid city. Again she feels disconnected from the world. Where she is the sound has been switched off.
|
145340
|
After sportscasters announced the assassination and while the reverberations of the words were still fading people were already shouting
|
145388
|
It is the first day of summer, a blue-green afternoon, and we sit beneath the English oak, Quercus robur. Everything has at least two names. It is the first day of summer, or the last day of something else.
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145311
|
Once upon a time in the days of old
There lived a poor tailor who- I am told-
Did brag that his daughter
Spun straw into gold!
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145376
|
you might as well be blind
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1453154
|
This cell the sole certainty,
all else steeped in mystery.
Why should we be here?
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14531210
|
My little friend is no bigger than a minute. An even five feet tall, if that.
|
145300
|
A Nocturne, whose grey mana seeped out of it mouth, grabbed the roof of the building with its large claws. Using it as leverage, it stood itself up, hunched over, its long whale like head roared like a loud horn.
|
14531212
|
a poem about things exploding/burning down/scattering for miles.
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145321
|
The story itself is not much longer than a snippet. What is a snippet anyway?
|
1453118
|
I was sleeping the night of a hurricane party. I awoke to lightning flashes. They lit the undersides of descending clouds, and lit the shadows of scattering dancers. The hurricane must have turned inland.
|
145300
|
I was awakened by a disturbing dream. He was no longer with me and I felt afraid. Everything was cloudy, almost blurry. I couldn't see much in front of me, but I knew for sure he wasn't there with me. Then he said the words I feared the most “I don't love you.…
|
145372
|
I must have been six years old at that time, but the events of…
|
1453117
|
When I cook sausages, I am afraid I will not let them sit in the pan long enough, and they will be pink inside. Then, even if the pigs have been handled humanely, I and the person for whom I've prepared this meal will be at risk for some terrible stomach poisoning.Let's say…
|
145333
|
The questions we ask ourselves define who we are as a culture. “What is the meaning of life?” “Is there a God?” “Does anybody really know what time it is?” “Where the hell did I put my car keys?” To see what…
|
145354
|
When we were young and small we played in the orchard. Mom made apple pies and fried apples, caramel apples and apple sauce, apple cider. Grandma’s apple butter recipe.
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145211
|
This new kid on the block, named Miller, showed up out of the blue one day, while we were throwing rocks and boulders down on this flimsy gray sheet of construction plywood that was covering an open trench in front of a new house on our block. One of the
|
145276
|
I read it all wrong. In writing her novel, I thought Marilynne Robinson was writing about twins — writing, in some way, about me. Instead, these characters, Lucille and Ruthie, were standard sisters, one older than the other. In fact, Robinson explains th
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