Like most of John’s projects, the compost bin became mine to maintain almost as soon as he started it. I put a bucket on the counter and filled it with acceptable scraps. Coffee was a good source of nitrogen. Depending on what blog I read, citrus...
Dreams are a geography, Another world neither here Nor in the brain’s receptors. We are alternate inhabitants, Natives of many layers. The birds too, Who know all the wind’s dimensions: Night squall, summer’s breath of fire, The star-encrusted...
When Matwel woke, the potters’ guild was empty, but he could hear a jumble of voices from villagers gathered in the town square. A spellshaper had not come to Roane for many years and would not come again for many more. Matwel trotted down the...
I walk out the sliding glass door into your world. Sometimes I forget how close you are. I let you scrape me with dry branches, bite me with your mosquitos, still me with the moon that shines through your tall maples, illuminating only what you want...
Rico and Nuria hid under the bridge, shivering with adrenaline and listening to the crowd overhead. Two or three members of the crowd leaned over the side of the bridge and peered into the shadows with wide, furious eyes, but Rico had tucked the...
I’m not sure whose idea it was, but at dusk we’re both up here on the roof, twelve stories above the highway and the evening rush. The sun is setting and the autumn air is peppered with fading warmth. It’s nice, sitting in these cheap wooden chairs...
She’s on the Red Line, no doubt headed for the rarified air of Harvard Square. Her nails are painted green but freshly bitten. She fiddles with the brown ringlet that won’t leave her eyes alone. A stuffed backpack is her only companion...
On a good day, when the nightmares didn’t crowd her head with larks wheeling in wide circles and the circus began to wind down and finally stop, she looked at her husband with a frown as if to say, Where have all the years gone? How he gazed...
Astrid has uneven breasts, a scythe-shaped mark underneath her left shoulder blade, and an invisible thread tethered to her heart. When it’s raining—which it does often, and without reprieve once autumn begins—she trudges barefoot out her...
the plea is simple stop everything at seven sharp light a candle to remember because… that is what we do we bring light to fight the darkness of loss of grief of life gone out and i would oh, i would in a heartbeat but i have no candle only...
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