Rotting Fruit

‘Crawl in,’ coaxed the cat, who smelled of rotting fruit and mildew. His sharp mouth sat agape. The sparrow, who … More

The Phones

The smell of gunpowder makes its way into my nose. God. You’d think a cop wouldn’t mind the smell. Might … More

The early morning stirs its way into the dawn’s dark sky. And the evening moon, which became the night moon, … More

The window over the sink, the one with a late-day sun coloring the kitchen. Through it, the farmer watched the … More

A colossal pumpkin in my arms, I stumbled into the house. Kicking toy cars, small, discarded shoes out of my path. … More

Pooka sits on my chest as if she were a mother hen. I think she thinks, My girl is warm. … More