Oh, Liz, who are you to be so bold as to write to total strangers touting Jehovah’s ways? I don’t know how you got my name or why I was chosen as the person you anonymously write to every few …
Last night I thought I would text Julian. I liked to have an excuse to text. The excuse didn’t have to be foundational or believable, but I needed it in the back of my mind to give my texts credibility. …
I inch the Camaro forward, your head heavy on my shoulder. I’m going so slow, savoring the moment, I can hear each fleck of gravel crunch under the tires.
How many times have we driven into town on a Saturday …
Two cypress trees framed the steps leading to Amy’s porch. I rang the doorbell and breathed the lush perfume of honeysuckle. It had been a while since I’d dated and I’d heard things had changed. The door opened.
“Hi! Come …
If they lived in a farmhouse, she thinks, everything would be different. The morning light would slant through large windows onto painted floorboards, fresh country air would fill up the rooms and invigorate their boys. She could raise goats and …
Sonia’s fingers skim the surface of the keys. Hover really. She disremembers so many thingamajigs. Compilations, occupations, collaborations, ornamental and supplemental. The infarct cycloned through her temple one ordinary afternoon wiping the slate clean. Irreversible, they say. But inside is …
Your gaze lingers at the dull interior of the hospital, at the gloss floor (you notice a slightly dislodged tile in the far corner), at the rustling white and blue coats, the dazzling ceiling lights, which instead of creating a cozy and …
There were two stone buildings with closed shutters, and in front of the buildings several bare trees. There was thick, untouched snow on the ground and a snow-covered hillside. The sky was soft white. If he was there, the chillness …
The slave catchers never stopped chasing us. They followed my brother and I all throughout Virginia. Miles of forests, torrential rains, and wild boars weren’t enough to make the catchers give up. Years of beatings and being used as tools …
Did my parents name me Laya hoping I’d exude an incorrigible love of life, a hunger for its cadences? Be New Delhi’s bonne vivante?
Laya, meter or tempo, and swar, notes, combine to make up Indian classical music.
A steady …