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The Weanling

From the back porch, I check on the fire’s progress. Just over the tree line, dark columns of smoke billow. The fires, I know, are closing fast on the ranch. Th...

More Time

By the time you get around to picking up the pills it’s been nearly eight weeks, and the doc or tech or whoever she was—some white lady in scrubs—made sure you ...

Clover

The birds and the bees come and go. They graze on my leaves. They flutter against my stalk, buzzing or chirping their contentment. They always pause at my flowe...

The Rooster

My father came after my bedtime, but I could hear my mother talking to him. She said she would not let him in, and while he stood at the foot of the porch she c...

Past Tense

“It’s all history with you,” she said. It was an accusation. “I just wondered if you remembered trying it,” he said. They were driving west on Green away ...

Then Go To Paris, I Say

My mother is beautiful even when she bangs her head against the wall. When she does, her black, shiny hair swings back and forth and I can see, in profile, the ...