1605 4 3
|
The Rapture comes and goes unannounced in carbonated soda bubbles spicing the air.
|
160411
|
she knows that's the natural place of a man, above everything, closest to god, eyes slowly filling with rain.
|
16042014
|
I become the accumulation/
of appetites
|
160421
|
my maddening pyromaniac,/ you're burning up my heart/ so open up your broad-toothed mouth/ and let me pour the ashes in.
|
160410
|
It was the middle of May when I found out my teacher was screwing my mother.
|
160453
|
It was midnight. I was outside the cottage, digging another row of star-shaped holes for the shrubbery.
|
1604137
|
I miss Mother gentling the small of my back. She has forgotten me. Her little girl. Whose thumb she fussed over when a rose thorn scratched it and blood spilled like a secret. Whose smile she said was her morning sunshine, whose hug was incense. I yearn for her lips…
|
16041010
|
not of time, but of all the clocks/
that tick along toward the end/
of all the possibilities.
|
160482
|
Running into the fire, the smoke and the chaos;
selfless first responders, innocent bystanders,
and dedicated runners
|
1604106
|
I enjoy launching words into space. Please dangle a moment here while I prepare the next sentence. Ok. You can come in now. Take boiling for instance. And hawsers. The sound of words on a sheet of paper. The manifesto for a roll of sleep. Sleep is oblivious to…
|
160483
|
Every ten days, the Decadent Sisters assembled for dinner. Although raised together, they were each very different...
|
160430
|
Theresa Esposito woke to the smell of pignoli cookies baking. The sweet scent made her stomach rumble. She was ten-years-old today. And she felt ten. Her hair, her ears, her eyes, her toes — everything felt ten.
|
160466
|
The Misses Moses by Brad Watson from Aliens in the Prime of Their Lives The Moses sisters lived together, alone, in the fine old brick house near downtown where they…
|
160477
|
A new philosophy stirs in its surgery.
|
160422
|
|
160475
|
One day it was boring / to be alive.
|
160354
|
Facebook just hit me with an ad for coping with memory loss, probably because I just turned 63. As far as my favorite social media site is concerned, I am now an Old Lady. When I asked my Facebook pals who are also Seniors what kind of promotions have been turning up…
|
160321
|
I don't care much for Joking, which is not to say that I don't care at all for Joking, just that I don't care much. I would say, if I had to say, that I care for Joking about as much as I care for a cousin, not a close cousin, one I have a genuine frien
|
160320
|
You beckon me with an aperitif.
The Kir Royal tingles, its bubbles tickling my nose.
Its subtle black courant pulls me into your smile.
I drink from your lips the champagne-tingle of your kiss.
|
160311
|
The night is very clear and unusually cold. We are so near to the star that its light banishes the darkness that tries futilely to extinguish it. A small village twinkles in the foothills to our east. The cry of a lost sheep cuts the night like a blade
|
160311
|
Zorro lived in his mother’s basement until he could get back on his feet.
|
160330
|
|
16032114
|
I don't believe in symbols
but there's a hole
in my living room window
in the shape of a bird
|
160364
|
Harpo was there with his wife. Harpo’s girlfriend came up behind the couch where I was sitting, and I ran my hand up her leg underneath her dress.
|
160300
|
The church building was a rustic structure made of rough-cut lumber that over-lapped in the clap-board fashion. The building itself was unpainted, but the boards were a weathered gray that only came from years of exposure to weather. The steeple towered o
|
160311
|
“We know you’re in there, motherfucker. Step out, slowly, and we might keep you fit for an open casket funeral."
|
160265
|
His looks were polished like his shoes, his hair as black. No one would have guessed he made his living as a thief.
|
160276
|
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
|
160211
|
Her mother sighed, fingering the faux-pearls around her neck. Barbara's neck tensed, almost as though the hair on the back of it would stand up: Here comes a platitude . . .
|
16021911
|
|
