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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I could recite you into poetry, every inch, every word every breath, every stanza and stick you on my refrigerator....
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Perhaps you didn't hear that Mrs. Carson died. It happened last night, while everybody was sleeping. Even poor Mrs. Carson slept, dor hoe was she to know any different? Her daughter, Meg Carson, says she was a gem, but most of the flower-folk who worked with her at the florist shop used to ca...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The day the circus came to town, I hid in my closet the way a dog cowers under a bed before a rainstorm. I took with me a blanket, a Poland Spring, a granola bar, and my father's handgun. I didn't take a pillow with me, because I needed room to breathe. I didn't expect the Bear...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The evening is alive with color and conversation. Silver trays bend, tilt, sway with the pulse of the room. Six o'clock brings with it rhythm and wine. How can one stand the lack of windows? Light flickers, simmers, and falls asleep In the eyes of weary swing dancers. The bartender mutters in ...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    I'll tell you what scares me: killer whales. Some people call them orcas, but I don't like the way the hard c and the r remind me of their sharp, abundant teeth, ready to sink into the flesh of the innocent. The word “orca” also reminds me of those beasts in Tolkein's stories – the ones born i...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    You used to live on Sweetie Lane, which visitors call “Sweet Lane” because they don’t care much about getting it wrong, and they know no better. The road is a long and quiet playground for dust, and sometimes when I drove down to see you, I would almost run you over because you were creeping i...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    We didn’t have any choice but to deal with it: the eyes like saucers, the hands paused mid-reach in the baking aisle, the mouths twitching in the frozen food section. I walked with my arm around her, so that our shadows blended together and the world saw one, misshapen, top-heavy creature instead ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Thomas Kapner, called “The Tomcat”… Okay, nobody called him Tomcat, but that’s not to say that he’d mind if anybody did. In fact, he’d probably blush, but it wouldn’t be a subtle, charming tint of the cheeks. It would begin at the rims of his abnormally large ears and spread hencefo...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I remember the way the wool blanket felt against my skin – not warm, not welcoming. But the weight it provided, cast over my body like the gentle wrappings of a mummified pharaoh, kept me rooted to the sofa. I do not know why it smelled of sage, or what pattern arose between each grey-and-green st...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I can feel it trying to steal the covers And wiggling its freezing feet. It sighs incessantly - Yes, no, maybe so. It drools in pools on my pillow, That dry into a crust, crunching Every time it rolls over, restless. It submits to rest with one final twitch....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    It begins with cluttered contact - A curt greeting. The escalation is in the descent....
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    Nothing could compare to silence. The distance rumble of wheels on asphalt, the clamor of birds, nor dull murmur of the sidelines fazed us – even the deep, exasperated breaths of our teammates didn’t seem to meet our ears. A cluster of blue uniforms at his feet, Coach towered with arms knotte...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    It is the kind of day that smelled like rain; the moisture clings to every particle of air we breathe. The pavement is warmer than the air, and when my feet step into the dark stains that bleed across my driveway, the warmth is a pleasing surprise. You lean against your car, running a hand through ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    “Do you want them to notify you?” “Who’s they?” “I dunno. Somebody.” “Notify me for what?” “If I die.” The motel sheets were itchy against his skin; still he wrapped himself in them like a cocoon. He noticed a shapeless smudge lipstick on his shoulder and glanced at the wo...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I had decided a long time ago that I don’t want to die. It was silly, really, since everybody dies. But I saw immortality in people who were graceful, or strong, or breathtakingly beautiful. And I chased it, that sense of immunity and invincibility, in the hopes that one day I could achieve it....
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Monica Harkley and I were living proof that you can still be friends with someone that you have already dated. How, you may ask? It’s quite simple. Monica was my ex-girlfriend of five months, who dumped me on our five-and-a-half monthiversary, almost a year ago. The breakup had been ugly. The...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    I felt the butt of the cigarette singe my fingertips. I looked down at it, half-surprised to find it in my hand, and then slowly released it, watching it fall to the ground. I rubbed it into the sidewalk, watching as my shoe spread the bits of ash across the pavement like a thin, grey puddle. I...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    It’s funny when you leave. Not funny, as in humorous, but funny as in strange. You might not think so, but that’s okay. I bet it’s easier to leave than it is to be left behind. I try to make a game out of it. You see, the half of me that loves you bets against the half of me that’s scar...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    He said it quietly – almost completely under his breath. “I don’t want to be with her anymore.” I remember feeling the wind rush out of my lungs, and thinking over and over that he couldn’t mean what I thought he did. “You love her,” I said softly. “I don’t, though,” he s...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    You asked me not to call you, honey And you asked me to call you “honey”. You asked me not to come by again And I promised with my pinky, But you told me I was immature When I swore like that. You told me not to say sorry, So I said “I’m sorry”, and then once more. You said th...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    I guess we won’t be talking tonight. I fold up the scrap of paper on which I’ve scribbled down some words for you, and tuck it away. It doesn’t say much; just some things about the last few days that I wanted you to know. But they can wait, like they sometimes do. I love that you have frie...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    Her eyes are what most people see when they first look at her. Green and bright, framed by long, thick lashes. Every blink seems like a secret – intimate, like she trusts you, and only you completely. The kind of trust that does not survive beyond the borders of youth. But she’s not a child....
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    “Don’t you start crying,” Emily said softly. “If you cry, I’m going to cry.” The world outside the car was alive with color and the promise of summer. I stared at the green maple leaves, drawn to the way they danced freely in the breeze. The afternoon sunlight filtered through them, ...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    Jamie was illuminated solely by the light of the lavender-scented candle my mother lit on the white wicker table. Her hands were hidden behind her and her feet were tucked beneath her, as though she were shielding herself. She looked like a starfish, her knees and elbows silhouetted against the fl...
  • Fiction > Romance
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    "Doesn't it make you sad?" "What?" "The way we are now." "How are we now?" "We're different, I guess." "You think?" "Yeah. You don't?" "No, I don't." We are quiet for a while ...

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