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.
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.
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 […]
Day 2 “Jesus didn’t walk on water,” I say. “You know that, right? It was ice. Read an article said it was a cold snap and there were chunks of […]
1 She’s staring into the pool, like the light might change and she’ll see her son on the bottom, tiny bubbles escaping his mouth, his face distorted by the water […]
The boys came running with news of a dead body catching flies in the empty lot bordering our street. We dared each other, double dared, threw burlas, until, at last, […]