613 6 4
|
His shoulders were smaller than my fists, but he was the closest thing I ever wanted to a man.
|
115600
|
No news spreads faster than news of a death. Word of the death of a child can be heard simultaneously in a thousand places. . . the word spread by telephone, in back yards from clothesline to clothesline, with whispers in grocery stores, in the looks on faces stunned into…
|
1600
|
His flesh was the gray of Swiss lakes, but he might animate any time now and simplify everything.
|
140100
|
The pit of my stomach was bottoming out, this lurching sort-of feeling one experiences when one has coasted WELL OVER an abyss and has no way of finding one's bearings . . .
|
113433
|
Let's buy this robin's egg blue furniture. Okay. Let's buy this album full of wren songs. Uh, okay.
|
109137
|
We knew the turkey would be ready soon, we weren't worried about that.
|
300
|
I’ve always wondered why my sister got all the luck in our family. She was shinier than the rest of us, somehow. Had the sweet smell of “good luck” on her.
|
85310
|
"Maybe…" he began searching for some comforting wisdom. "Maybe it's like this. Husbands live for their wives. Mothers live for their children. And children...well...until they're husbands or wives, they live for themselves."
|
91510
|
Row,
Caps of white,
A salted escape
beneath reflected light.
Brother, remember those old lies?
I’m off to sea to make those things right,
now.
|
19630
|
We wish for Santa, we celebrate the birth of Christ, but no one would ever expect that the happy Buddha would come to celebrate Christmas Eve. Papa had been given this designated title for…
|
15685
|
I'm calling to tell you our children are related. In fact, they are half-siblings.
|
2400
|
She got a whiff of something unpleasant. It wasn’t the food. More like very gamey body odor. An unwashed bottom. His dirty derriere. The odor traveled up through Chester’s clothes and made her choke. She gagged but didn’t comment because that would only make him more proud.
|
65800
|
When Shorondra Reynolds was a baby we lived in a Baltimore brownstone on the edge of Pigtown. Just me and my mother, when there were no single mothers, just Adele’s mother or Mary’s mama, or Kiki’s madear and their like. It was a time when a five year-old
|
92231
|
“Don’t do this Jack. You are better than this.” He pleaded. My lips curled, “Maybe I am, but you’re not.” I spat. I lifted up his delicate frame and threw him back against the wall of his office. I watched as his head bounced off the decorative brick
|
13581310
|
Texas Route 29 is not a straight line.It traces the perimeter of our own Georgetowncompelled west kicking off shit-stained bootsgreeted by green and yeller' John Deereignored by motley cattle, heads bowed weighed low with marrow-filled horns.A Jack Nicklaus golf course…
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