The children were at football practice till two and I was at the mental hospital, visiting Ryan. My chair was plastic and the curve dug into my spine. The tabl...
Thirteen:
Her own body morphing, emerging, betraying the earlier confidences she’s gained. I see her look at her reflection sometimes, her gaze landing on h...
We weren’t the wild-grown, wayward girls we often daydreamed we were. We babysat for our neighbors and complimented our mothers’ baked salmon; we drove our dad...
My wife is threatening to make the jump on her 1982 Kawasaki.
“You take it back,” she says.
“Nope.”
She revs the engine, sending our two little Pomera...
As our father lay dying, I fought with my sister over morphine. I wanted to give him as much as possible, as much as the hospice nurse said that we could, and ...
The Company built the silos after the war. The Men came home and built them up from the earth, built them with their hands and machines. Our people eat the ani...
We have not spoken in over two weeks because words become fists and words become the press of calloused hands over my larynx; this is a silence that progresses...
We went to Wal-Mart, Rag Shop, Target, Phar-Mor.
On school nights, Saturday mornings, Sunday afternoons as the sun dipped toward dinnertime, we drove down U...
“What’s wrong, Monroe? Are you still thinking about death?”
Your mom and I are preparing dinner when we overhear your twin sister ask the question. The two ...
Mom bought the Algorithm Father in the hot middle of my analog summer.
Mom bought the Algorithm Father because she liked the idea of an extra set of hands, ...
