flash fiction

Remember when Angel lay bleeding out and I couldn’t speak up. Yesterday I looked down into the dark water and saw snakes peeling from my ankles. At dinner I grasped a lobster—the shade of rotting seaweed and smaller than this card’s sham image—pinched him between my...

Remember when we walked by the river and you told me you longed to see daylight, longed to see colors? But you are dark velvet sprinkled with distant suns, I said. You have a radiance that day could never conjure. But you stayed sad, stayed longing. I took you into my...

The words were Russian but the melody was unmistakable, the sorrow and dream of it, like a pill made of Kafka and Ambien. It’s not the song but the silence I want you to remember. The way the city quieted into mineral stillness when it was over, something ancient as...

  "Adventure awaits," Chuck said as I folded into the passenger seat of his car. Bob Dylan murmured from the speakers. Clothes fluttered in the air, a red shirt, black pants, white sundress, blue striped shorts, a green sandal, one random article after the next...

Dear W, You might wonder about the lobster on this postcard since we’ve never been to Maine, not even when my sister’s house was foreclosed and she begged me to come but your tech job swallowed you and you didn’t want me to go without you. You might wonder about the...

Dear Fearly, In the beginning- raconteur- streetlights, rumpled breeze, orzo, camembert Exhales, laughter trickles through covert canyons Memphis, climbing pilloried ruins sunken Giza, bones like xylophones Nile crocodiles, pyramids amid stubbled fields Parting ways...

  I am moving through your work and discovering fragments of places and traces, some of them summered-- and also considering how critical metaphor must be to any story we try to tell in short form. There's an article I read recently by a scientist who talks about...

[sorry -- left the headlines off in my first posting!] =========== Where am I?                           Rock Creek Park, Washington, D.C. Landscape Feature                Monolithic granite boulders in Soapstone Creek -- I used to wear my wading boots down...

I used to wear my wading boots down to collect fallen branches, leaves and dead snakes from the creek, so I could make decorative patterns on the rocks, then I'd spend hours photographing the arrangements...but now I use the rocks for my beauty self-care, for...

*based on a postcard entitled the same **sorry got excited   When we enter the tunnel, we disappear.  We are eaten by the mountainside.  We become boulders–entirely made of stone.  Even our hearts harden.  33 seconds in the yellow light, and our lives change...