On my doorstep a package. On the package no name but I’m pretty sure it’s from my mom even though she died 10 years ago today.
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An aspiring poet sat with me in Captain Quackenbush’s Intergalactic Dessert Co. and Espresso Café on Guadalupe Street.
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“Are you the satirist?” I said,
“I certainly am not. I don’t think I’ve ever even met a satirist.”
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The bees are flying upside down, you said.
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To me it’s like he’s holding open a door behind which lies a shiny new future, a bright new beginning, and all we have to do is walk through and ...
We swung in the wooden swing, creaking back and forth, or rocked in paint-pealing chairs while she and my parents talked of weather, war, politics, or relatives.
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Puddle onto concrete and thrashing, weaker-weaker before subsiding to limp stillness.
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His mother hovers over a pirate ship cake. The father loiters by the tea urn.
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Only after the tanks had rolled into the capital, and the intractable president had been hanged, did the officers of the occupying force relax enough to enjoy the spring sun ...
“All who witnessed her performance felt like they had become part of a strange and romantic movie.”
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He says he married a girl who is sweet and merry
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What would’ve happened if we’d never met – only shared a glance and a smile across a packed auditorium, the fresh lacquer smell of the stage mingling with stale cigarette ...
Without our secrets, we did not have a body. Without our secrets, we did not need a body.
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Back home, in my mother’s garden in an equatorial country, there is one small deciduous tree planted alone in front of the porch. Its large almond shaped leaves look chewable, and its ...
‘I’m afraid there’s been another incident with your father.’ David remains motionless, hoping the information, like a wasp at a picnic, will bother someone else. Following the previous complaint, he ...
After leaving my lover by way of a kind but firm email, I cried for several hours. On receiving his sad but kind reply, I cried some more. Then I ...
One of the facsimiles was in need of a new top. This of course brought me into communion with the Internet. In doing this, I was immediately reminded of the ...
So dear Paloma, I know my voice messages can ramble but I need to talk. About our daughter. Maybe you’ve noticed on your weekends – she’s blooming, right? It’s amazing: ...
Our topiarist is known for collecting broken umbrellas. Her house is full of blank-paged books. Pruning shears. Frames without pictures. Every fork is bent & she likes it that way. ...
It’s all I can do to hold on, much less keep my heels from hitting the spokes, sending us hurtling toward an inglorious end. Potholes lurk, land mines ready to ...
![Melusine experiment: lab notes [fragment]](https://www.litromagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/11140632333_a9fb858dd2_c-700x302.jpg "Melusine experiment: lab notes [fragment]")
