Fiction
Girls
You tell her you love her the day she graduates. It’s a carefree spring morning, the perfect kind for the endurance training you sometimes did—
Ghost Hunting
I’m hunting for ghosts,In alleys lit by memories,Phantoms of yesterday,Carved out of my mind.What I once held,You me and our dreams,Scraped knees and screeching swings,Pokémon
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,
What I Can No Longer See
“I’m thankful I’m not a horse,” Marla says, as she reaches for the saltine sleeve inside her tote bag.
The Bricks are Shrieking
Cal Jacobs sat in an uncomfortable rolling chair made of plastic and polyester, staring out the tenth floor window of his high-rise.
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.