All Stories

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 ...

“Divebombing…”

“Divebombing” is This Thing I Do With Camera One-Twelve on Forney Towers Where I Focus on the Wide Horizon of Trees and Electric Windmills and Then Begin a Slow...

Click

Coming through some crack into her mind there strayed the American phrase every which way, as if a piece of American film had flaked off and found her, but that...