They Say Crying Is Good For You, But I Find It Depressing

The bench he sits on is old. It is not well built. The wood it’s made from hasn’t smoothed over time, but has instead splintered. He wonders if it will be replaced when it is worn through past use. He looks at his hands, arthritis gnarled, and decides that he doesn’t care.Continue Reading

Flash Nonfiction

He ran out of whatever juice was propelling him, like a wind-up toy petering out, and he settled into the look of calm, unquestioning authority that had characterized him for 88 years. “I love you Bud,” I said. And that in universal death there must be universal love did not seem true exactly but close enough for me to breathe out my grief and replace it with a mild strain of joy as the pendulum of sleep swung back over his eyes and I could leave.Continue Reading


Instead of some magic mushrooms hidden in clumps of cheap milk chocolate, I found a shoebox labeled broth with a little plunger and some bands and, beneath them, a packet of information that told me it was a foreskin stretcher. Continue Reading


Rita’s got one eye on her toddler and the other on her order screen. She tucks her phone under her chin and repeats the order back to the red Corolla, makes a face at Agnes, her boss who likes to say, the customer is right, usually. She’s okay for a boss, fun even, is also semi-okay with Rita bringing her kid to work now and then. Like today when he sneezed twice at drop-off and Claire, the prissy daycare lady, said absolutely not, but whatever. Continue Reading

August comes to city and country

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.Continue Reading

Don Whitney, by Don Whitney

There was a floaty moment where even the kids in their car seats seemed to notice, and his wife Kelly, she just took a breath that went down to her toes, and Don, he didn’t have some miraculous driving maneuver that saved the day, some turn into the slide bullshit; no, he just thought, like he was about to post to Facebook, Don Whitney is gonna die, along with his whole freaking family, in a smoking, twisted heap. Continue Reading


In organized fashion, black dots formed a line from the driver-side seat, down below the center console, just under the gear shift and onto the floor mat near my feet. I might have hummed the “Ants Go Marching,” but then I realized the ants were my fault too as I watched them collecting in a plastic bag I left in the car overnight.Continue Reading

Family & Unicorns

First-generation Columbians, meaning whomever you came over with you were stuck with. Which is why his mom didn’t leave the husband who beat her, still kept in contact with the uncle who molested her oldest son. People will use the word family to tie you down, to tie you to them. Forever if they can. So, Fernando left as soon as he turned 18 and never looked back.Continue Reading

On Water’s Edge

The river deceived. In summer it hid its strongest currents. In winter it disguised its thinnest ice. I had been raised to believe there were more ways to die on it than could be counted.Continue Reading

The Miniature Man

Once a year, around the holidays, it becomes too much. I crawl in my tweet, cradle my miniature man like my mom used to me. I miss you, I’ll say.Continue Reading