Fiction

Poetry

Skirt

I. I see a video of women cycling in short dresses talking of how not to flash. They wide-angled their legs, pull the back of

Short Story

Paper Boat

Three walls of the room are made of tin, but on the fourth side a polished floor opens, running like fabric into curtains of lace,

Poetry

The Day of Our Meeting

I dreamed of the day, In the dead of winter, A dreary day, When I’d step off the train And see you there- The day

Fiction

After the Earthquake

At first, the dreams were jagged and bewildering, like migraine lightning or a Dali canvas.

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.”

Short Story

No Man’s Land

Bloated clouds float above the prison, obscuring the sun. I linger outside the narrow cell window, which is no more than a barred gap in