She is regarded in certain circles as a slacker. She knows this and doesn’t care. She wears the colors she loves; does whatever she wishes. She can be seen strumming strange instruments sitting sometimes on her porch and sometimes on her roof. On spring days, she...

After he died there was still her brother and sister to feed. His two pearls, mouths open and hungry at the table, one older and one younger. My mother was expected to hold them all together upon her tongue. With every fall of the cleaver, I could hear my mother...

*Who shall answer?* Bronze-blazed dust answers. A gray-webbed room answers. Trials, betrayals, shroud-twinned sirs-and-madams, airs windowed silver with black forgets of boots. A thin sonata of children answers, that might be only wind-trimmed tremolos of limbs. That...

In the morning I birth a sisterhood of sugar birds. Silk-circle throats and beaks made of drachma. We take tea in the aviary converted for this purpose. I instruct the birds to use the bathroom in the corner. Babies never listen. I don crimson lipstick and invite the...

I don’t know what my mother did when she was in her room. She was working. She was working a lot. She devoted herself to family matters, making trouble. But I am convinced she did love him extremely and after he died she said that was the fact. She said a lot of...

Hi All - I chose a version of the animal prompt, I suppose. This one is the story of the imperious robin detectives that stalk our lawn, then it sort of falls down a wormhole into a meditation on the Surveillance States and the complicity of metaphor...anyway, enjoy!...

Enjoy Day 1 Creations!