fiction that lingers long after the flash
flash
Owl Fantasma
Between Abuela's mobile home and mine, a white sand path interweaves the moonlit scrub pine. Sometimes it is ribboned with the tracks of sidewinders, so we watch our step, especially near the Spanish bayonets beneath which they like to coil. If the snakes have any...
Zen Lyrics for the Carhartt Guru
My dad sits on the couch after Thanksgiving dinner and announces he wants buried in Carhartt overalls. He's 82, retired from the mines, and too cheap to buy Carhartt while he's alive. "I hear they’re warm. Leave a clawhammer in the pocket." He pats his jeans. "If...
Before The Everything After
The television casts a garish parade of colors across your unlined brow. From the corner of the bar, you watch me, not the game, but drop your eyes when I meet your gaze. More mating whisper than mating call. Wesley, the sleepy-eyed bartender, spies my nearly-finished...
Out of Season
Your older sister is the amusement park at the end of the boardwalk, the one that’s been in the mayor’s family for a century and looks it; the one the mayor doesn’t maintain because the newer one, halfway down and closer to the big hotels, gets all the foot traffic...
Train Home
Winter lay down fat in its white robe as if to die. The war was over, and he ached to get home after years of service in foreign parts. The villagers kept cramming his mouth with sausages and boiled cabbage and the grime of their fingers. They had made him their own....
What the Water Took
In Low Bone Parish, the water don’t knock. It just rises. Quiet at first, like breath held too long. It slicks along the bayou’s edge, kisses porch steps, then swallows whole towns without a word. Folks call it a natural disaster. But the women on our street ...
Shame
I’m clean. I was clean five minutes ago. I scrubbed every inch of skin, washed my hair twice. Now I stand as the water streams over my body. The shower curtain is clear plastic. On the other side, standing before the mirror, Henry shoots the dope into his arm. I can't...
Hands
I’m at a wedding in the Languedoc. It’s the last weekend of September. I’m relieved the hot, cruel summer is almost over. There’s a woman on the table next to mine with bleached hair and a magenta mouth. She looks like an eighties rock star. I can’t take my eyes off...
Didn’t We Realize We Were Drowning?
In those days, we woke with bedheads and foggy eyes and boggy brains, comfy in our slept-in yoga pants as we headed to the kitchen to make our pot of coffee, our go-to prop for endless hours of video conferences with others, also at home, also in yoga pants they’d...
micro
Companion Wanted
Seeking a companion. Need not be romantic; platonic is fine. Just someone to wake up to for that morning breath that feels stale with closed-mouth soft snores, and those eyes holding long, floating eyelashes that I want to touch but won’t. Just someone who will empty...
One Day in December, My Trapezius Decided to Write A Short Epic Poem
during a 50-minute massage. The grading, the emails, the sunken cold: my mid-back balled into a walnut. At Hand and Stone, a blind masseuse named Homer leads me to a room with prancing emerald lights: hospital sink, mirror from Marshall’s—a franchised underworld....
Cappuccino
Capuchin monkeys are named after the monks who are named after the drink or something like that, could be the other way around, so when Sam says that Olivia’s voice is like cappuccino we nod but we don’t really know what it means because none of us have tasted...
Everything Is Fine On Planet Jell-O
The brother, Paleo, and I are doing inventory when it begins raining. Acid. It’s Acid Rain. The one that strictly arrives on the first Saturday of every month, to burn away the soil nutrients and kill the grass that has grown since the last acid washing. It’s a very...
Coyote, Bones, Howl
CoyoteThe house slept while I stayed up stretching, trying to fit my body into this world, knowingsomething ancient lives inside me and needs to ease into sleep. It worms its way through mybloodstream. A howl, released with a stretch to hide its strangeness. It is all...
A Perfect Pair
My husband has this idea to marry a laundromat and a bowling alley. “A perfect pair,” he says. “Like us.” He’s an idiot. Who’d want that? “Think about it. Now they wait for free, but we could clean up.” I roll my eyes. “Maybe some video games or an air hockey table...
Boys in Boxes
The men are dying. We’re the boys who see them. In tabloids, on news bulletins. Faces pocked with purple lesions, bodies ravaged by weight loss. Their abandoned eyes, their hollowed-out stares, hold us. We’re told it’s a plague of our own making. Our fathers—both Holy...
Our Father
There’s a photo of our father, donning a black suit, standing under a tree, with a mischievous smile and a diamond stud in his left ear. He was at a wedding, at a funeral, at a party, at a business meeting, outside a church, behind a courthouse, in another city, in...
Secret to Marriage
They sit in silence on the farmhouse porch. It’s nothing, he hopes. Earlier as his wife lay sleeping, toes twitching, nightgown transparent from sweat, he’d turned away, denying her protracted slumber meant anything. He brushed teeth, brewed coffee, ignoring his...
contest winners
Owl Fantasma
Between Abuela's mobile home and mine, a white sand path interweaves the moonlit scrub pine. Sometimes it is ribboned with the tracks of sidewinders, so we watch our step, especially near the Spanish bayonets beneath which they like to coil. If the snakes have any...
One Day in December, My Trapezius Decided to Write A Short Epic Poem
during a 50-minute massage. The grading, the emails, the sunken cold: my mid-back balled into a walnut. At Hand and Stone, a blind masseuse named Homer leads me to a room with prancing emerald lights: hospital sink, mirror from Marshall’s—a franchised underworld....
Hands
I’m at a wedding in the Languedoc. It’s the last weekend of September. I’m relieved the hot, cruel summer is almost over. There’s a woman on the table next to mine with bleached hair and a magenta mouth. She looks like an eighties rock star. I can’t take my eyes off...
Didn’t We Realize We Were Drowning?
In those days, we woke with bedheads and foggy eyes and boggy brains, comfy in our slept-in yoga pants as we headed to the kitchen to make our pot of coffee, our go-to prop for endless hours of video conferences with others, also at home, also in yoga pants they’d...
Empty Bottle
She takes the empty urinal bottle from the nightstand and sets it aside quietly in a corner of the room. It was there for him to use when he couldn’t make it to the bathroom. The floor creaks beneath her as she bends over to pick up the package of adult diapers she...
A Richter Scale for Heartbreaks
Jessy, at thirteen, was a serious birdwatcher and carefully cataloged his sightings. Junie, his best friend and three months his junior, fancied herself a trail interpreter. When they rode their bikes through the deep native woodlands just beyond their small town,...
Birds
I. You are still little, and your neighbour has a cat called Moonface. An impossibly beautiful creature, all languor and white fluff and huge beryl eyes, and yet, as should be expected of her kind, a sadist and a killer. Moonface is in the habit of decorating the edge...
The Bride Is Eating Cake and the DJ Is Playing Werewolves of London
The couple at the next table has brought a three-year-old to the wedding reception. Martha sports a pinched look, but we do not speak. Words have failed us. The child’s mother pours herself a third refill from the bottle of red; the father devours a shrimp cocktail....
Kintsugi
One time, a porcelain doll lived within a music box. Beautiful, everyone who saw it said, pale skin and dark hair, raised en pointe with hands brushing the sky, forever dancing in an endless twirl. The doll was fragile; everyone knew that, but no one paid much mind....