Maybe you hear a bell, heard it for years, clang-clang-clang. You sit on the floor, legs in a deep V, lean across to your left ankle.
She supposes plenty of hunters enjoy what they do rage-free but wonders if this isn’t worse. Maybe, she thinks, we are all predator and prey.
The Founding of Rome I’m trying to feed baby girl, and she shakes her head, slaps the spoon from my hand, raspberries away any puree I manage to force into her mouth. I give myself a time out, but it doesn’t help. “You have to eat!” I come at her again. This time she shields…
I pray for a fire. It would break the monotony of telephone rings and the buzzing of the damned lights.
Later, the girls stand in front of the open refrigerator, slightly feral: slices of cheese torn from plastic, pickles from the jar, a swig of Hershey’s syrup, jelly scooped out with a finger.
Matt Chomiak says that you drive by my house late at night when you shouldn’t be driving.
Larry, emailing because you aren’t in your office, despite the fact that we have a division meeting in forty-five minutes, and you’ve skipped the last three.
Last season, the beach moved in three more feet, the houses built on stilts above grass now above sand &, before the decade ends, above water.
Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry by…
I found Richey Edwards’ body in the stream behind my house. It had metamorphosed into a pile of wet stones.