The gates had names. Karusell. The Steilhong. The Bruckenschuss. Alte Schien. Seilampsprung. Next, the Zielsprung. Then, turning right, he caught the mountain. The right knee dead against the ice. That was where it was supposed to be. The left ski, not, it was catching a groove, and started to slide towards the right one.
You loomed above me in bed and I saw it, too late to ask—the inky name engraved on your bicep. Lucille.
He first saw the band in ‘79 when you were negative ten years old.
“If a man looks to have been drinking, steer clear of em, Jenner. You hear?” Auntie’s eyes were sharp and clear. I had never seen them any other way. […]
The sun is not the jealous type. He doesn’t feel the need to be, and why would he? He warms us and gives us light; he makes things grow. Look […]
Reasons to do it: To get you out of my system. Because the reality of you can never match the fantasy – no matter how great you are, how skillful, […]
I am a volunteer at the county park. Once a week I drive fifteen minutes to the wooded, twenty five point seven acre lot which features tennis courts, a soccer […]
Technically, she loved Moshe Ber. At least her eyes went swimmy when she thought of him or when anyone else said his name. He went to the boys’ school in […]
Lucky told me the seconds before you die count the most. Which is why I howled when they come for his body at sunrise, two fat men in a pickup, […]
Past residents? Victims of the plague, a garrison of soldiers, and that bald hooker with the gold-studded tongue. There was also the defrocked priest chanting psalms during Holy Week.
