-
October 31 1991
The next day you could see where she had come out of herself dark against the black asphalt. I saw her sometimes, behind sleeping eyes dark curls bouncing head thrown back laughing whole with all of her blood inside of her. I saw him too, crouched down, cowering, shivering blade held high and with all…
-
Broke Down.
The numbers on the clock run themselves up like debt hold us captive in the same way trying to pay back what we’ve borrowed interest without long-term interest. On the side of the road, on the curb, hood up, broken down flashing lights behind and a reassuring promise to stick around, I pondered the contents…
-
Children Drawing Stick Figures at Night
I don’t think it’s juvenile aesthetics alone and poor motor skills that make us as small children inclined to draw ourselves and each other as stick figures. We are accurate representations of who we really are this way: no distended bellies, fat with greed and gluttony and the taste of our own malcontent No misshapen…
-
Rearview
If I could build a time machine and set the dial to eleven fifty-nine pm I’d lock the door and hide in there. I would write constellations in magic marker on the cool metal walls draw shaky letters, half-words on the floor leave a strand of hair behind for the archaeologists to ponder. I would…
-
Maybe.
maybe you remember a time when the sky was small and vast and concealed in the palm of your tiny pale hand and wide, stretched tall against the bleak black backdrop of the universe infinitesimal immense maybe you were just as small and invincible and grand. maybe you remember when each note of a tune…
-
Something Ugly, But Not Really
This is one of the rare things that gets a disclaimer from me. I ran it by beloved to see if he thought it went too far and maybe shouldn’t be published here, and after he smirked about a line or two (this is a good thing) his response was, “Um… my dad reads your…
-
floor.
in the dark, fumbling for the lightswitch like a drunk still wiping whore-red lipstick from his crotch and breathing fumes of cigarettes and stale whiskey on the doorman as he tries to maintain some sense of dignity -the light evades, exhaustion wins the floor becomes a haven, cold and hard unforgiving, flat black tiles cracked…
-
four seventeen
i ravage his treasure steal from the dreams he keeps locked inside his simmering head written out longhand, his sharp letters a path to the stars night, darker than the furthest corner from the sun and i am nightmares raging, waking out of breath unable to speak with my own voice unable to see with…
-
selfish.
i said, in my sleep, i want everything whispered, face turned away from the sleeping back beside me i took it back almost immediately just in case my voice might have carried kept inside the selfish bits wander loose from time to time wanting everything always to be the only thing my system of belief…
-
Asheville Writers in the Schools Write-A-Thon
Hi friends, Asheville Writers in the Schools is a non-profit organization that places writers in local schools to teach kids about the joys of reading and writing. I’m participating in a “Write-A-Thon” to raise funds for the program; I’m hoping it will help inspire me, too, to complete the children’s book I’ve been promising baby…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
April Fox 