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The cold blade lodged in my throat like it always did, the glare of the spotlight hot on my face.
On our walk to preschool lately we’ve been passing the carcass of a headless bird, just lying there on the red-brick sidewalk, rotting.
It wasn’t a city meant for walking, but she walked.
“You’re apologizing to garbage,” laughed Carlos.
Year I turned foreman, a guy I used to know by Cocaine Tommy calls me up and asks can I get him a job.
The lake looked wasted by overly green algae while the mermaid’s skin—or, rather, the skin of the actress playing the mermaid—gleamed sallow and sickly.
Many of the male patients present with a sexual dysfunction we call the Errol Flynn disorder, after the actor who developed similar problems late in life.
We are thirty-four years old and talking about the time we had sex…
A rusted mess of barbed wire nearly stripped Debbie of her torso in her first and only car accident.
She asked him, “Does English have a term for a doomed love affair?”
It is what it is, and before that, it was what it was: night, the marks of your hooves in the lawn, the vegetal burst of daylilies between your teeth and on your tongue.
It had been raining snakeskins for days.
When unpacking her suitcase from their trip to the other continent, the woman finds the toy baby slipped into her new crocodile skin slingbacks.
Dad came upstairs to ask me and Pete if we wanted to build him an airplane. It wasn’t a question. Dad never asked questions, he just made people think that he had. “Which one of you’s gonna clean out the garage?” Pete and me both ran downstairs. Took us two days to empty the garage. […]
I did not know it was you at first. You tricked me in your feathered form…
When the whole family gathered—when the dogs of cousins vaguely remembered one another and settled in friendly heaps under the long table around which young parents affectionately bemoaned the little ones upstairs rumbling with the horsepower of imagined engines, and the very old ladies downstairs, passing peacefully away in corners, growing young again, strapping on […]
My neighbor is burning his mail again.
When her birthday did come, in the middle of July, it was Billy who brought the mask.
The day Gaëlle forgot language, I was arranging a bouquet of roses and eucalyptus at our house north of town. My husband Fred and I were supposed to have dinner when her nurse called and told me Gaëlle suffered a stroke. I walked out the door, forgot the flowers, and took off for the rest […]
All complaints concern sky viewing. For example, wedged between my office door and floor last week I found a parchment written by Caldor Clemens with Tree branches are air-veins to be beheaded, down with them. I placed the parchment with the others. I too am a great admirer of colors above. Selah and I want […]
I. How during the Hunger Winter the Dutch ate their tulips. How they peeled away the bulbs’ dry and papery tunics, licked their lips, and counted their children’s ribs. How they shaved smooth the hairy roots, sliced out the riotous yellow buds at the center, diced and fried the tulip meat with brown beans and salt. […]
They called her La Baudilia, because she was the exact female version of her brother, that famous Baudilio Cartablanca, who later ended a long career as a Venezuelan revolutionary, dying a renegade. She had the same sharp nose, the same bulging eyes, and the same measured and gentle way of speaking that hid, or tried […]
L drinks from a broken teacup and splits her lip. She doesn’t wipe the blood with a napkin but sucks it away, glaring up at her mother with crooked eyes.
And finally the tragedy. The boy’s parents selected a wooden casket with fine grained eddies streaking its polished sides, ready to be lowered into a family plot when they found him.
We discovered the house’s beating heart when Margaret poured the dregs of her papier mâché project down the kitchen drain.