It was a neighborhood of loose cats, sprinklers that fitzed up at dawn. Motorbikes would tear by too fast, Sheri said. She and Will were settling in. Everyone was genuinely happy for them.
There were pears in the blue bowl in the kitchen, the early light fell in a warm rectangle, and in the bedroom the sheets were rumpled, still warm from your sleep—I had missed you by minutes. I set my suitcase by the door and lay down in the warmth you had left behind. I didn’t call.
Don’t think about how false it felt to be less than open with each other; how you both drifted into silent gravity you could neither escape nor acknowledge lest it draw you too close again.
When Natalie came home to Omaha, the summer after her junior year abroad, she brought back a Russian nesting doll. And a new name. Call me Natasha, my sister said. […]
In her small studio, she spent part of the morning sketching a torso. Black marks across ribcage, ribcage, tenor. It quickly devolved into a blacktop of rage.
Ugh. The sermons from Kiersten. The sermons. It gives you untold happiness to see her down there in the zombie hordes, animated entirely by her brain cravings.
17 Carnations: The Royals, The Nazis, and the Biggest Cover-up in History by Andrew Morton 384 pages Grand Central Publishing, 2015 ISBN: 978-1455527113 They are just a memory now, but […]
The first thing he notices is the entire horizon of the Pacific in one long picture window. That it’s installed upside down. Countless times he has been into strangers’ houses […]
The first snow came early that year, and heavy. When the baby woke them up at first light it was piled upon the sills, grey on grey against the dimness […]
Knotted It is exquisite the taste of paper. The glue dissolves in his mouth. He has eaten plum cake at the register and knows there will be a contest for […]