A Short Story — She lived forty years without ever seeing a fairy, so it was a surprise when one showed up at her weekly office meeting. Maggie told herself it was an optical illusion. One blind was half open. The afternoon sun was coming in sideways and striking the corner where there must…

A poem —

A poem —

A poem — Everything will be normal again and I’ll lean on my horn at the injustice of double parkers on single-lane streets. I’ll roll my eyes at the throngs of tourists blocking my way on cobblestone paths. I’ll scream inwardly, impatient with slow-moving lines ahead of me as I make my way to my theater…

A poem —

A poem — . . I am scattered pieces of Europe; a quilt of the scrap remains of dozens of immigrants. I am from nowhere else, but I’m white, so people ask about the ancestors I never knew. I oblige and rattle off my list of countries, and they list theirs too. Maybe…

A poem — . . I can taste the dark. It’s gritty and crackles in my mouth. I chew it over and watch the clock. I have been watching it all my life. I always believed in progress, but time goes round and round, usually. Time is linear round my eyes and mouth, circular in…

A Poem — . . All the little muscles tighten and twist to hold me together a little too tight as if I might otherwise break into several hundred useless fragments. An erector set facade unafraid, denying more than one truth about myself, life, the country I live in, what tomorrow will bring. …

A poem — . . Time, the great bringer of things, is suspended on wings gliding nowhere in particular, cutting through the bluest slivers of sky. Hope is as wayward as any summer breeze, it blows wisps of suspended disbelief in evil and ignorance, for a moment before it evaporates. Dark clouds fill…