The surgeon has hands like a polished sword. That’s what her husband says, like a polished sword.
He buys her roses for their anniversary; he opens a bottle ...
My kid said the thing in the sky was a divorce. The drunk at the bus-stop revealed it was the Russian hackers. It was thin and, for November, unreasonably shi...
Baby 1 gurgles, splashing her feet as her mum dangles her in the kiddie pool. On the other side of the fence, Baby 2 crosses his arms, trapped in a jump-up ch...
My father’s funeral: my aunt says a few words, my mother cries upstairs, and I sit in the boarding area of gate 23B, Guam International Airport, watching the si...
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” 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...
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...
Nora is in the kitchen drinking her coffee and looking at the dead teachers at the elementary school. Mrs. Kittridge and Ms. Hofstetter are mingling among the o...
Deda Vitya, my father’s father, is in the hospital now, and we are with him. My father’s standing over his father’s bed. At the end of a blood test. White str...
Jenna pulls a pink plastic-wrapped wand out of her purse and sets it down on that container where you’re supposed to dispose of pads and tampons—that steel box ...
