50. In late 1992, on their first date, my parents saw The Crying Game.
51. On Wednesday, Mom quit family counseling.
52. I make my bed. I lie in it.Read More >
She rattled on enthusiastically about the pros and cons of ordering chocolate, vanilla, or swirl. When we selected swirl, she screamed that we’d made a great choice.Read More >
That’s how people were these days most often, though not my mother. I heard her cooing even as they tickled off her flesh.Read More >
Turning a crank
on the side of my head
& shooting diamonds
out of my eyesRead More >
I watch your mouth
swallow the fruit
as I caress your head.
They give me the freedom to do this, this thing they call telling the truth. Summon me. I promise to do the chores.Read More >
I am intruding—I am an intruder—how unsavory mother would find it. I open the drawer of a dark wood chest and I see them. A sea of pinks and whites, offwhites and yellows. Silk, lace, small blankets, warm serviettes.Read More >
The cooks and local policemen came by to see her on her shifts. Her necklaces got tangled in the skin tags on her neck. She begged me to mash cysts on her back.Read More >
the brilliant Sophie
before an audience of philistines
He’ll pinch his photos with fat fingers and wave them about. The body will develop into something creamy. I’ll make him crop out the skull, per our agreement.Read More >
Is there mayonnaise in that? a woman—a stranger—asked. Her sharp chin jutted down at his potato salad. The lenses of her sunglasses were gigantic, giving her face the appearance of an insect.Read More >
They called it the Bacillus abortus of Bang, no joke. Stockmen and dairymen shot up in the night to a pounding at the door, a light on in the barn.Read More >
Then, I’d just finished work on a novel, the publication of which I’d been assured would change my life. I was pre-diagnosis, drinking in moderation. The night before, I’d gone on my second date with the woman who’d never heard of Phil.Read More >