Bed A gift from Kayla’s father, who put her head through a wall when she said David Bowie was holier than Jesus Christ. He buys a twin; he doesn’t know (can never know) she’s sharing it with me. When the box arrives, we assemble the bed together and tell each other...
I was the one who took the photograph of the princess with her toes in the mouth of a man who was not her husband. I didn’t mean to take it. I was sent to pap them and I did not want to be there, not one bit. It had been a long day and a hard one. I leaned against the...
After three days, my husband comes home with the moon pillow, still in its plastic. I don’t know how he paid for it. Maybe he didn’t. “For you,” he says. Nothing else. He’s stopped explaining his disappearances and I’ve stopped asking. I already know more than I want....
These are the things you may not do: You may not hide in or under your bed without speaking for weeks, time stretching cobweb-damp as the bright world rushes by outside.You may not be unseemly in public.You may not develop a drug problem.You may not drive thirteen...
It was the off-season and we were left to the rain that mourned the tourists. Paddleboats masquerading as swans. Swans masquerading as boats. Gone were the slushies and sunblock and hey mom, can we ride these?! Gone were the city stalwarts and country obese that made...
There are collections that are so good that instead of ripping open the packaging they come in and reading until my eye sight’s blurry, I carefully set them aside. Knowing that one day soon, I’ll need them and they’ll be there. Yes, my TBR is out of control. Whether...
I wanted to live on Love Street when I grew up. To steal paperbacks about salvation sex and hide them under my bed. I told myself that one day the sound of my name would make a man sick and then well. The dog was my very first love. We were criminal friends. She'd...
To the centipede I tried to kick down my drain but refused to go. I see you there. Being better than eighty-two percent of the men I've dated. You creepy-crawled out of the drain. I screamed like an old-fashioned actress. High-pitched and startling. Then, I toed you...
K Chiucarello: First, I want to say congratulations on your recent Paris Review publication. It is such an astounding essay. I was awestruck with the two lists you made, one in which you needed to make to stay alive and the other of what you wanted to accomplish in...
Image You’re always embarrassed in photographs, holding up your hand, saying wait, wait, and it’s your hair or your makeup or there’s something in my eye, and I breathe slowly, fighting the urge to say but you’re beautiful because you don’t want to know. Later, you...
Stories about endings and stories about beginnings cannot be mutually exclusive. Every ending is a new beginning and every beginning is the end of what came before. This means that the pieces below could be placed in the opposing category with nary an argument. But...
Around the dining room, the guests make small talk. The talk of some is so small, it is quark-sized. Some talk easily. Two or three flirt. A few examine gesture’s blueprint in the kitchen. Snippets mimic augmented fourths. Pitch echoes reinforcement, denial, and...