After Doug punches the time clock in the office, he steps into the hotel courtyard. The cold hits first and pushes against his hangover. Then the wind cuts through his coat and flannel shirt and down to the layers of …
We come in awe to watch him stack the dolphins. Yes, the water is inviting, the warm sand is sensuous, and staring across the flat blue ever escaping horizon is livening. But it is the dolphin stacking that brings us …
The invitation read, Time to celebrate. The pandemic is over and Blue is having her first birthday. Please attend. We’d love to see you!
Damn. Now I had a decision to make. Should I go or not?
There’s no way …
I knew we would not speak again.
You did not.
Jennifer Rood enjoys micro fiction and blackout poetry and writes (almost) every day. She is currently President of the Oregon Poetry Association.…
There was no fare charged to hop into Mrs. Maguire’s Taxi. Her youngest son Danny used to save me a seat in the back. It was a station wagon with strips of wood on its’ doors, and one of those …
Swing dancing night at the Orchard Lake Retirement Home. “It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing,” sang the singer.
Jerry could dig it as he sat off to the side in the community room, watching. One …
Neighborhood pond.
Ice skaters joyfully gliding,
Laughing at frozen winter.
Jim lives in a small town twenty miles west of Minneapolis, Minnesota. His stories and poems have appeared in over two-hundred online and print publications. His short story “Aliens” has …
Most people on board are already drunk by the time the sun slips behind the mountains. I’m nursing a beer at the stern, mesmerized by the white waves churning in the ship’s wake. I don’t like fireworks, but Fred loves …
The day after my grandmother died, I stayed home from school. She’d had a heart attack when my parents and I were on a picnic at Bear Mountain State Park. By the time we heard, it was too late. Although …