Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
Her first harmonica was a cheap Toysmith—plastic under silver paint—that ’er daddy picked up on ’is way home from work without thinkin’ the littlest bit about it. It was a toy, was all. So was ’er first guitar: an ugly purple thing with a princess on it that hadn’t been the full-size, beat-to-hell beauty she’d dreamed of after seein’ an old Willie Nelson concert on…
Letter as Dream Interpretation i had a dream where mama shot you. she felt so terrible, the moment she did it, i could feel it radiating out of her. and you, broken on the ground, only wanted to weep in my lap. i hugged you with such force that your wound lessened and soon it was only a scar, a memory of what she had…
It was April or May when the earth opened up to swallow part of Canal Street, and we decided to celebrate. Lou Ellen Beaumont was walking her dog very early in the morning when it happened. She heard a crumbling sound, like someone taking an enormous bite of very stale sourdough, and when she looked to her right she saw that the pavement had collapsed….
If You Ask Me begins with the seemingly picturesque life of Violet, aka Sweetie, of the Dear Sweetie advice column in North Carolina. Dear Sweetie is up for syndication and Violet is excited to share the news with her husband of over a decade, Sam. That is, until she comes home to Sam in bed with Shelby, the neighborhood runner with a perfect ponytail who…
God of the cuffs, key clenched in the apse your mouth makes. God of dead aphids greening the rose whose thorns furrow me. Call me seed. As in: all I’m good for. Yes, I promise to give you what I’m good for. Yes, I promise to beg for God in every way imaginable. God, unlock me. God, happily ignoring the body tied to yours. God,…