Short stories & poems for everyone from everyone
Mira calls us to dinner. I rise from the chaise, still wrestling with the enjoyment of a summer day—reading, writing, being with family—while acknowledging the coming of another September. And the stressful year it...
Brightening. Darkening. Crabapple leaves viewed through the dining room window alternate between a luminescent emerald in golden light and drab green. Until the daylight dims to a dull-gray. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The...
Am I dreaming, or somehow awake? I can almost hear Dad: his absolute, direct, self-confident tone filled. I feel a burst of his frenetic energy. Someone calls out, “Dad!” It’s me. Someone cries, “Help!”...
Tina must have laughed about it at least ten times. “I can’t believe you gave your mother a Christmas list in July!” All my brother does is smile, as he takes another bite. wind-blown...
Bottom of the 11th during a game with several lead changes. The Boulders manage to load the bases, but there are two outs—including a strikeout of the batter that tied up the game in...
Lynn’s “a” looks like mine. I hesitate for a second, pray, then open the envelop. Inside lies a folded card with artwork from the Met. Her handwritten message—written right-side to left—begins by thanking me...
I didn’t see what he took out of the ‘frig. I only found out after I saw his PB & J sandwiches. Waves of Reddi-Whip covered the top of each. lunch in the shade...
It’s cool this morning. The maple beside the deck still holds a canopy of lush, verdant leaves. The Pygmy Chinese maple offers no hint of any loss. The lawn is as green—and overgrown—as ever....
What do I remember of her? Straight brown hair, sky-blue eyes and tapered cheekbones? Her love of horses? My head swimming when she smiled? What don’t I remember of her? Our walks in the...
I see the apple tree. It’s dark-gray and brown, ridged bark, with Y-shaped branches splitting upward like outstretched arms from its knotted trunk. Its leaves fill every branch. The 2 x 4 Dad and...
The aroma of her nail polish is so strong that I smell it from the lounge chair. And her hair? Straight and silky. All to visit our dentist—her former employer. She says no. Do...
I don’t know my first memory of Mom. I recall the photo and home movies: beehive hair, white mini. Was it when I cut my hand on that protruding stone at the daycare center?...
