Waiting for the bus, I pull some of my wife’s hair from my sleeve. This is the fifth time it’s been in my hands in the first hour of the day.
Micro Prose: Just Like Leaving by Joseph Slocum
Micro Prose: Three Pieces by Joel Hans
As a child his mother tells him about the whisperingbirds of this desert, tells him how they live in cacti and offer secrets on their wingbeats. She says watch this and dips her fingers in honey and stands out in the backyard and lets a hundred of them consume her fingertips like flowers.
Micro Prose: “The Body” by Cris Harris
The body is argument, muscle, will.
Micro Prose: Two Pieces by Zachary Doss
Your boyfriend decides to start a small business and sure enough the store he opens only comes up to your knee.
Micro Prose: “Girls Prepare for the Apocalypse” by Dana Diehl
When the apocalypse comes, we will pile our minds heavy with vine-ripe tomatoes, late-night text conversations with the boy who plays second-chair clarinet, and the cool weight of a pearl necklace against our collarbones.
NEW SOUTH 