They came with their pipes and their drums, whistling out a merry tune that frightened all the birds and beasts. Behind the drumbeats’ rhythm and the jaunty airs, heavy wheels followed, lumbering over roots, crashing against us, dragging the weight...
(from Broken Heart Symphony In Four Movements) The day we first met, she was naked. The empty gallery had turned the A/C off and she said, “It’s hot, too hot for clothes,” and she stripped down to skin. She was pink and raw from sunburn...
Any followers of Zetetic already know that the “art” we use to accompany the stories and poems is never meant to represent the writing or the author. Indeed, it was often not intended to even be seen as art. This is the art with sources for the...
One: Avoid Turning Back Driving home to Chicago from my mother’s house in Milwaukee, I felt the absence of something I needed, the way you feel a tingling on the back of your neck and just know someone is staring at you. “I forgot something,” I told...
¿Alguna vez has tratado de acabar con el diente de león? Nothing could be harder; do not be duped by their sunny appearance a man reaches forward to pluck a simple stem, ignorant of the problem of the root his fingers grasping the tender plant...
There is the morning sun, lighting the tops of the trees whose leaves are still unfolding. There are the swallows, recently returned from their winter travels. Like me. There is the cabin where my baby was born, back when our house was small and our...
Sand and Sable was cheap perfume my mother wore. It came in a foggy white bottle kept firmly in her purse for those emergencies and liquid encounters at the grocery store. Ladies with purple tinted hair, I found, often had that smell doused thickly...
The book wasn’t really stolen, Lee reassured himself. He had taken it down from the dusty shelf, intrigued by the title, and when he realized what a treasure he had found, he spirited it away to his room to read more carefully. By the time he was on...
She seeks no applause, nor is granted any, for her wild pirouette at the end of the pier which stings of the music tourists would not admit to knowing even if they were at home with the curtains closed. —Darrell Lindsey is the author of Edge of the...
Every day, the same message. “Baptist. Five.” Mona patrolled the Da Vinci exhibition daily, smart and authoritative in her black security uniform. She’d worked at the gallery five years and thought she’d seen beauty in all...
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