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A cloud of light, white smoke floated out of the driver’s side window. Nate and Zach sat on the front bench seat, talked, and puffed away. “Breath in and say Mom is coming,” said Zach.
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I was shooting baskets in the driveway when the Mexican kid delivered the groceries. He drove in fast and loud . . .
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And then she'd wipe her eyes, sweep her hair between the crest of her left ear and the side of her face and press that ear to the knot.
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Sandy stood with three year old Josh, in line at the Santa Cruz County Correctional Facility in Watsonville. They were waiting to visit Tim, who she had met when she moved back to California after breaking up with Josh's father. If you call fleeing in fear…
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The surveyor began at the mouth of the Klamath and worked his way toward the mining camp. He'd expected to find a trail, but for most of the way he hacked through dense underbrush. The river shrubs clambered into the water, just skimming its surface. There were…
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, that smiley lush would shake rattle and quiver the day long no matter the temperature.
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On the train, with a bag full of books, All by the same person. That's what writing is. With each shudder bump my Head lags behind, and my eyes follow While the wandering shaky straight line Moves…
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Fabulous birds perched nearby, where we were. In their memory there goes the little god, original, in the midst of it all, happiness like anything near the river-mouth. Letting yourself dabble in the femaleness of it. In the lower world or on the playin
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A black wind raced ahead of the Merbreth and Juko could smell the thing's fur, matted with the blood of men. The coppery scent mingled with the fear coming off the men around him, a fear so palpable it became a tangible thing, something to be tripped over
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“Are there really, truly zombies in Haiti?”
“Bien sur,” he said. He had even seen them: affectless men and women with a deathlike pallor, high nasal voices, and the characteristic drooping at the chin.
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Me leaving is not the confirmation of all your fears. It is not. It's because of them.
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The little girl picked up the toy phone. "Who is this please?" she said, mimicking what she'd heard her mother say many times before. "Snoopy," came the voice.
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Pascal would let something slip now and then. He was sharp and spoke excellent English, with a beautiful Spanish accent. He corrected speech among the guys, but he exercised his lessons in grammar with an eloquence that fascinated all of us, not letting a
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no, you said.
like how the moon strangles with the side we can't see.
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They say that air traffic control is stressful work and I guess it is for some people. It did require a lot of concentration but that never bothered me much. I could keep the position, bearing and altitude of a couple of dozen aircraft in my head without
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WOMEN MEETING NEW MEN up suddenly from a new fire we each rose up suddenly columns of smoke wrapping around one another parts of us touching and matching fitting and twisting tightly becoming one over this poem…
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"I need a male friend, and I think I've found one."
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I normally don't photograph well, but today – well, today's different.
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The Pulse-Soldier: Part I Dr. Zog Kadare waddled in off the patio, daintily lay down his umbrella, acknowledged his wife with a grunt, kicked off his sandals with a deft movement of the heel, without troubling to unbind them, removed a sealed envelope from his rear…
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We are on Fox River and I am in the dark water swimming naked beside Rick DeMille with my white skin glowing as we come up behind you and Sharon in your dad’s ski boat sitting silent in the water, and I can hear Sharon whimpering, “Oh, Jesus! Jesus!” as
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Ode to the Monterey PeninsulaWe love…to stand on Lovers Point in the early morning watching when the waves break how water droplets rise to form fleeting rainbows.to walk by Hawk Tower in the early evening imagining Robinson Jeffers…
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Smiling, holding hands, Joe and Lara basked in the sunshine of the mid January day as they approached the diner. The temperature was warm enough for golf. Joe had played in far colder weather in spring and fall.
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Ben followed Jean-Claude’s white Fiat. Every time Ben shifted gears, he was reminded of Arris’s punch.
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Just thinking aloud, really. And by aloud, I mean typing for someone to read haha.
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He lives a simple life, the docks, an occasional woman of questionable morals and brewskis.
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(...) I know my eyes are shut and I’m on the kitchen floor but I see her and I’m not confused. (...)
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He sat on the floor and said, "I found this letter W in the jungle. It's b-b-beautiful,"
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“Mortal,” it said, and its voice made the cobbler’s soul tremble. “Why do you disturb our peace? It is late, and you should be abed.”
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