Most read stories

Flipper Avoids the Tuna Can

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I used to sneak away to my bedroom to write. I would get away any chance I could to jot down on paper my stories, my ideas, the rich stream of goodness that sprang from my little baby creative brain. It was pure joy.

Ask Mr. Fix-It!

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Got a home repair question? Ask Mr. Fix-It! He usually knows the answer, and if not, your problem isn’t worth fixing.

Séjours linguistiques

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I linger and pretend that I’m not there, you find me in the end but I’ll not dare to speak the words I only know to write.

Inner Charlie

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When Charlie woke up he couldn’t find his inner Charlie.

Love At Last

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They shared a lot through the years – a bus stop, acne, and first kiss stories. George was happy to be her confidant, good enough friends to help shoulder her burdens. But he wanted to push her curls back behind her ear and trace her soft cheek with his f

Seishin

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The Japanese sun, blood-red and vibrant, like a Cézanne apple, was setting far away in the distance over the snow-capped peak of Mt. Fuji. For a moment, the intensity of the light blinded him. He could not see the road ahead. His front bicycle wheel wobb

Cellphone Girl (Part I)

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The calls were going through her as if her whole head had become a wireless receiver. She absolutely did not understand how or why that was happening, but the physical evidence was impossible to ignore.

Lenin's Paintings

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I was going through Lenin's jewelry and his paintings with a team of experts. I got the idea that I was hired to verify his paintings, although I didn't know he painted.

Break Time in the Army Corps of Engineers Mascot Lounge

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The Army Corps of Engineers spent $92,000 in federal stimulus money on costumes for mascots such as Bobber the Water Safety Dog.

The Party

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My wife tells me I should marry Pam. “She would be good for you,” she says.

Second Wife

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If things continue to go bad for her she will become second wife in six years.

What I find

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is every word is a small step takenaway from you that arcs back to me likea mamba's mouth. I'm not going aroundin place so much as running in circles. You can see my devilry here. You arethe truth here and that makes me the lie. You'renew morning. I'm much, much more…

The Writer as Rapist

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She's at an artist colony in the state of Virginia. She's in her studio. She should be writing. That's what everybody thinks she's doing out here. Why else would she be in her studio alone at 3:00 a.m.? But there's an interloper. A new painter? Sculptor? Maybe he…

Stevie Wonder

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Like Prince said one time, parties aren't meant to last. Guys who don't get the message are guys who die by the inch.

Arcana Magi - c.6: Damage Control

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Alysia gritted her teeth, lifted her legs up, and stood straight. She took Reya’s arms with a gentle touch and unlatched them assuring that she was okay. She stood before Oryn with her wings stretched out gathering a wave of heat.

When Your Poem Becomes Self Aware

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Where will you hide? Because you know it Will seek you out for answers you might Only be asking for yourself. It Will send many students to stand outside Your apartment and chant your name. It will beg you to perform its birth Again to the…

Ants

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Her husband wouldn’t let her call an exterminator. That doesn't work, he said. The real reason he said no was that he was cheap.

Legend

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My half-brother Salvy laughs each time we meet here at the hospital to visit our father Phil, who has lung cancer. He laughs because Phil married my mother, not his. He laughs at my job in Valhalla, the final resting place for those who lose at the…

What have you been doing with your life?

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Homegirl wanted someone to love her so much they could suicide together.

Andrew

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Andrew didn’t need oil and neither did his mother. In fact, the only reason oil was on his mother’s mind was because it was the last thing on her mind. He did not get up to get it, and she did not protest.

Poem for the Poet

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for Bill YarrowPoetry is a way of breathingagainst the enemy's chest withoutlosing consciousness again. Itis a ghost dance. Poetry is tobe determined by the plight of bees.Poetry is a waterfall ona mailing list. I've never tasteda finer whiskey than poetry.Poetry is half…

Glass Handcuffs

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Maybe it's a suicide clock, counting the drops of blood on the bathroom tile. A cancer clock counting the number of good cells still willing to fight. Maybe it's a justice clock, counting the remaining days of freedom you have left.

Passing Time

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A surreal conversation in a library hints at something else.

Margaret’s Mermaid

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When she was eleven, Margaret still believed in mermaids. She would fasten the neon diving rings that her mother gave her to her ankles and swim around in the pool for hours. By the end of the afternoon, with chlorine-swollen skin she would wince as she…

Banana Republic

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I would love to believe that this poem might sell a poetry book

Whatever Happens

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When Matthew calls I'm sautéing garlic for the polenta and Joe is squeezing buttercream rosettes from a Ziploc bag onto a spice cake he made from scratch. Or trying to—we…

The Wind Chill Factor Kicked In

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People disappeared in the 70's—young girls, teenagers, they always said they ran away. Nobody really believed that the next-door neighbor was capable of that kind of horror. These two girls disappeared and the police had been digging up the farm of t

Charlotte's Nexus

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She sent painless electrical impulses through his neurons, and consequently, he lost the pathways that lead to memories of his experiments, memories he had reveled in during his most profound moments of desolation.

The Messenger, Chapter 1

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It's hard to say who was the first to point a finger towards the sky. Maybe it was the cherubic overall-clad toddler perched on the shoulders of his father's worn brown leather jacket. Maybe it was one of the teenaged girls, their long straight hair whipp

The Egg

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It was spring. The stepmother brought her newish daughter to the toy store for a surprise.