Stories tagged memory


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With lips slightly open

A Letter to My Only Friend

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The lady—yes, it is grittily colonial but this is how she referred to her-- was with her family.

Gracious Have Been My Years of Late

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Gracious have been my years of late; The windy drifts blown soft. Truth be told, such luck seemeth bait Eliciting doubts and wonderings.


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The thing about it is its size. It's smaller, and your sister is there on the other side of the screen, waiting to be told goodbye. It's not as if you could hop on your bike and rush back to hug her, although that might enlarge the moment. Instead,…

Jen the First

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"kissing her with every muscle in my neck."

First Taste of Lonely

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I stuffed my pockets with as many coins as they would hold and got on my red tricycle. I knew the way to Trainham's Grocery, the only store in town.

(7) Plus and Minus

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"Her actions in the city seemed invariably designed to destroy that person, which she’d worked so hard all her life to become."

A Fairytale of Love

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I am convinced that if we had made love I would have noticed and remembered.

(4) Caution

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“You shouldn’t have gone inside,” he said, after she told him what had happened. “I know that’s what you’re used to doing here, with people we know. But he’s not from around here. Don’t go back over there, okay?”

Headstone III

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My only brother. Frantic flesh clings to bone.

Carolina Grüber: I

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Naturally, I bolted to the armoire; I glided past two great windows, and an effluent mirror-smooth sun. Holding in my wormy hands a succulent bundle of blue-lace panties.

In Memory A.M.

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It has been years since last you dipped down that marker in our praxis of (mis)perceiving

Grilled Cheese

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She always liked grilled cheese sandwiches, the gooey melt of them, the buttery crustiness. Today, when she bites into the one I just made for her, her mouth turns down. She purses her lips. "What's the matter?" "Nothing." "Not hungry?" She's never hungry…

Grandmother's heirloom

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No glue can reunite this tea set wreck. The refrigerator clicks and hums, towers over, swallows me in shadow.

Shrödinger’s Inception

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I'm on Schrödinger's plane, over the Pacific. I'm locked in a box in an unobserved state with a dangerous element and when I arrive — in L.A. - I will find out if I am alive or dead. Looking at the low-down clouds, I wonder why it is that Schrödinger's work is one of…