When There’s Nothing Left to Burn

When I am thirty-two, I fall in love with a man who thinks I am his. Our house is made of wood—the walls, the stairs, the Christmas tree. Everything is on fire; pine-scented, staggering orange flames. We escape unscathed from our bedroom where a candle caught the...

Ripe

The girl with the flaxen hair sits over there in her chair beneath the red/yellow/blue-striped umbrella.  Thinking thoughts that are dirty, kinky.  Thinking thoughts that would make them blush if she dared to say them aloud.  Like, squeeze my...

Casting

Rhea’s hunkered down, cradled by roots of ancient pines that reach riverwards. She’s crawled through dense bracken with the saucepan full of ashes, away from prying eyes to the water’s edge.  Held safe, feeling the thrum of the earth alive around her, she takes a...

Unity

You told me a story about a What or a Who, saying you’d prefer to say neither; you’d prefer not to choose, though I wondered if the nothing in your last line is the empty set, a simple...

Esperance

Our town of Esperance keeps its Watchers out all night. Dad says I’ll get used to it, but I’m here to tell you that I won’t. Ever. Cecily Patchett is the Watcher’s oracle; she sits on her front stoop 24/7 and stares at the sky, her eyes cataract-cloudy and her mouth...

Wrongdoings

She told me I was like a wound to her, that she wished someone could stitch me up. “You make me feel private and afraid.” I hardly knew her. What had I done? Had she me confused with someone else? I thought back over all my wrongdoings (especially that...

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