Miscarriage
April 12, 2018[…] images flashed in my mind of dried-up people, withered like the lawns and gardens in the record- breaking summer drought. My second-grade teacher, Mrs. Chapman, sat in the same chair every day, her once-imposing […]
[…] images flashed in my mind of dried-up people, withered like the lawns and gardens in the record- breaking summer drought. My second-grade teacher, Mrs. Chapman, sat in the same chair every day, her once-imposing […]
Once, when I was twenty-one and fretting about my future, my aunt said, “Why, you have the world by the tail! You can have anything you want!” Today I feel that I have the […]
[…] stories, but he didn’t often laugh. David’s dad brought a patient home from the State Hospital to share Thanksgiving and Christmas with the family. Two days after Christmas, David received a letter addressed to […]
[…] Cusins,” Carma says. “She plays the witch.” “Sophie!” The boy stirs and becomes alert. “Sophie’s in honors English. She’s way cool.” “And the witch!” the girl adds. “She’s been rehearsing for it all her […]
[…] my life. So this is what I tell myself. Kyle and I, our story, it’s like this news report I remember from last winter about a skier who got lost in the mountains. For […]
[…] at Anna over the top of his head. “Even the drunkards don’t like us,” she said in English. “I’m Catholic, non-practicing.” “We know,” she replied. “The whole country is Catholic, non-practicing.” “So what are […]
[…] horse and buggy to get to town. They had kerosene lanterns for light in the evening. The world had changed so drastically since then. It certainly was n’t all good, but it was definitely […]
[…] Inside the bar grew an abundance of stories to be plucked from the Tree of Life and shared, and Domlik slouched into the buckled Formica in preparation for his first drink. He had often […]
[…] snowdrifts cling grimly to tree roots, to shaded ground, and even these are not long for the world. It’s warm for February. The Ranger leads the group into a dry, sunny clearing. He stops, […]
[…] her feathers plucked out. My hips start to crack as if my private parts are a tree breaking under the weight of a storm. Still I push. I can’t not push. Sister Patty is […]