Fiction

Poetry

The God in the Attic

In our attic, among things, as it seems of past lives, lives a bitter God. When guests come to our house, we don’t mention him.

Poetry

A Photo Found in Black and White

Coincidence did not cause the young man’s cheek to share the curve of mine in his gray, buttered face. His finger-combed hair wet with grease,

Poetry

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

Memoirs

Outwitting Mom’s Cable Company 

  The day after my mother’s funeral I called Comcast to cancel her cable TV account. A recorded message led me through a series of

Poetry

Treading The Fire

maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge; a mantra to be ruminated over like a submerged leek becoming tender in warm water. as it seems

Fiction

Dreamless Nightmare

  I have not always had my medication to protect me from epilepsy, to keep my hand steady while I handled boiling grease and kitchen