Fiction

Poetry

Cold Lights

Outside my window there is steam
and there are lights in a skyscraper
where people sit at their desks
and the lights let them work.

Poetry

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,

Fiction

Only the Good Parts Left

Angie was the type of car people kept in antique store backyards ‘cause they thought she looked cool, “There ain’t nothing like a Classic Chevy.”

Fiction

Secondary Colors

June 1st Julia is dreaming. She’s always dreaming. Frothy ocean waves roll over her fingers as they sink into the sand, lifting her up into

Short Story

Fall Cranes

Back home, my sister’s bedroom overlooked our back deck. She could climb out her windowsill and drop down a few feet onto the wooden planks