Fiction
Dirt Road Dirtbags
It was Saturday. And I love Saturdays. My friend Libby’s dad takes her to church on Saturdays. And Polly’s dad takes her to museums. And
A New World
While he sleeps I catalogue his body. When he is awake I keep my distance. While he dreams I touch and map in a
Pins
Crying, I recall my father shudders, remembering tall thin men at the foot of the bed apparitions at night, faceless heads like pins, mostly arms,
Fragmented Silence, Fragmented Sound
How do you photograph silence? Is it represented by an empty room? A sleeping baby? A seascape?
Marge Simpson
Knows the heart ache of canaries. Hummimg bird to spilt milk No friends same dress Pearls that rarely dance Five dollar rose bouquets Without a
The Decision
Maya puts away our coffee-cups – I’ll rinse them after our walk, along with the produce for lunch – and stands behind me, massaging my neck at the right spot.