Category Archives: CREATIVE NONFICTION

CREATIVE NONFICTION (1000 WORDS OR MORE)

Uncle Alberto Hates His Job

Uncle Alberto Hates His Job

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I like driving; he once told me you can go anywhere. He still had curly hair, mostly grey, and a mustache, which I think he dyed. He wore pointy shoes but no shiny clothing anymore. Just the dullness, the creases in his face hardening. The loathing of everything and everyone dampened only by the hard ache of time.more

August comes to city and country

August comes to city and country

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You are bound for the neighbor’s horse barn where we can talk about artificial knees and hips and dropping dead and the dog sleeps with fluttering hunt eyes and the cat blinks watchfully from the little window ledge looking wise about nothing at all.more

Ghost Disco

Ghost Disco

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After the fact, I think it’s normal to catalog the things I didn’t have time to say to you. This kind of thinking forms a common self-soothing refrain: oh, yes, everyone must feel this way. Move along, rubberneckers. No tragedy here. more

Song as Epitaph

Song as Epitaph

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He came to know home was about time, not place. Before saying goodbye, his slippage stark, The Thinker with Rodin’s muscle wasted, eyes sad when not closed, close to warm blood and nerves’ end, he hoarsely spoke of that girl.more

The Tumor

The Tumor

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It was never part of the plan to have dinner with the tumor. But eventually it seemed like the only thing left to try. It didn’t go well.more

Collage of Sport as Self, Self as Sport

Collage of Sport as Self, Self as Sport

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I loved the old room, though it was dim and ugly and old, stank of the pungent antiseptic soap we used to mop the mats and the brininess of sweat that couldn’t really be scrubbed away. It smelled like what it was: a box of straining bodies on a soft floor, blocked in by padded walls, a training ground that contained as much of yourself as you were willing to release.more

Beer and Sushi

Beer and Sushi

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I’m sure plenty of his friends’ parents stroll through his line, but I wondered how many of them had taken him to a concert in Detroit when he was 15, and if I was the first on a Saturday night, buying beer and sushi in a Dusty Rhodes t-shirt?more

People Running to Places

People Running to Places

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The last time I saw you, I didn’t know I’d miss who I was before the last time I saw you.more

Gunplay

Gunplay

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If his own brother refused to stand at parade rest in the middle of a replanted forest on the ridge line above a played-out coal mine and let him fire a copper jacket hollow point a few inches from his milk white face, I sure as hell was willing.more

THE LONER’S HOLE

THE LONER’S HOLE

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A maverick poet and old friend asked if I’d like to replace him teaching prison inmates. Why me? I wondered, and didn’t ask. Men I know don’t often speak directly, even to friends. If pressed, my friend might not have said. Anyway, I can’t ask. He died not long after from a heart attack.more