Explore

Truth, it seems, spills from movies and sitcoms in the wires’ wake.

My sister’s fever wasn’t gone at all, but dazzling—suspended over us.

Screaming, the children flew toward the trees in their saucers.

I stuff cotton in my ears, bits of bird’s nest, anything to stop all that talk.

Up there there’s not a sound except for the wind and the buzzing of bees.

Three rooms, sight unseen, rented from a nurse and her husband.

My body. Stop the air. Travel by stopping, full stop, just there.

The first time we were alone, I knew it before he even told me.

She was thinking about what she would say when the time came.

In Ovid’s tale, the virgin Philomela was raped by her brother-in-law.

From the roof, my husband observed daily a man and a woman having sex.

The fires in the hills signify nothing more than their own wonder.

I hope you weren’t reverse-bookmarking everyone.

The snow on the windshield a tunnel of wings my friend is driving through.

That there are five sturdy red Gerber daisies in a jar on the table.

My father was at an awful disadvantage in a sport where cunning is a virtue.

It was a Tuesday, so they made love. She thought it was a fair compromise.

A dwarf is now crying, he sounds swollen but golden with malediction.

Sue Williams tells a pitch-perfect story outloud, about devotion.

Gramps’ will was a fifty-year diary, all jammed onto two sheets.

She is a stalk, exhausted. She will surround these bones with flesh.

“Look down,” I said, comb in hand. “Let me check behind your ears.”

In that instant, Niel lost one of the most beautiful things in his life.

I walk and I rest while the eyes of my dead look through my own.

Of late a graduate student named Cassius has joined our ranks.

There in the trees, swinging from branch to branch, they saw Pete.

The cottage stood as a metaphor for what she wanted out of life.

He’s got a nice, deep kind of voice. He doesn’t sound redneck at all.