I imagine that I am the father. What kind of man is he? Was he close to his son? Was he aware of his boy’s fury at the world? Did he know his ex-wife’s husband owned an assault rifle?… Continue Reading
I’ve begun to question whether I was just a dairy cow for my kids or a mere sex doll for my husbands. I wish they were still alive so I could tell them about the meaning of incontinence while their faces were on my hips.… Continue Reading
I write a story about Matt only I change his name to Pilot. And then to Shotgun. Then to Kevin. Then back to Matt. It’s about Matt, but isn’t. It’s all made up, but is honest and true in that way that fiction can be. OK, it’s mostly made up. In that way fiction can be. … Continue Reading
Bacon spat grease from the griddle when Alice first got word of the arsonist.… Continue Reading
Suddenly, I hear a voice like an ancestral echo saying, “no hay peor ciego que el que no quiere ver” and I see the most obstinate of those who, blinded, refused to see: my mother. Another devastated angel, one who left without needing to emigrate, now back in her homeland. Like a gambler who risked her life to get to the casino with a single coin and is back with a tired thumb and nothing in her pockets.… Continue Reading
Men can be beautiful if they are in photographs. There, their danger is behind their eyes, in the clenching of their teeth against the inside of their cheeks, the blood that stains the margins of their teeth, the thoughts attached to how badly they want to growl.… Continue Reading
Out there, somewhere, is the stupidest person alive. There are a lot of stupid people in the world, but someone has to be the stupidest.… Continue Reading
His ex-wife had never understood why he snuggled for a living. Stu remembered the way Liz would scowl at him from her side of the bed when she thought he was sleeping, prickly heat radiating off her body. The way she would shirk from his touch. “How many hands have yours touched today?” she’d accuse, as if he were contaminated. “What are you bringing into our home?”… Continue Reading
He tries to spin around and purchase a ledge with his fingers, but it doesn’t work like that–his body, the time, the space, the stuff around, none of it. He’s in open air. He’s looking at the big ground. The ground is like sitting front row for a technicolor film in his honor, a real end of the rainbow. He can think whatever he wants now. … Continue Reading
If Fred had been a female, he would’ve had a sensual stride and mysterious gaze; sadly, his elegance and charm were wasted on the body of a male, his pudgy belly protruding in a way that screamed domesticity.… Continue Reading