excerpt of “Floating Notes”

By - Jul 31, 2018

I don’t remember the first time I wrote my name. What I do remember is the first time someone else was called my name. I told him that was my name too, but he couldn’t believe it. He was a fat boy with a puffy face. He looked like a little boxer.

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Five Plantains

By - Jul 23, 2018

Yellow of a sunflower yellow of acid yellow piled on yellow of the yellowbacked book they arrested Oscar Wilde for carrying yellow in curdles glowing from inside and gushing onto everything around. Yellow of burnished gold. The very same yellow.

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How We Talked with Our Eyes and Our Hands

By - Jul 20, 2018

My wife looked so much brighter and more alive with her eyes open and looking back at me. I held onto her feet with my hands and she pushed her toes against them. She must have been smiling under that oxygen mask, but I didn’t know what to say to her, and she couldn’t talk again yet.

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How I Moved Into Her Hospital Room

By - Jul 19, 2018

I got onto the hospital bed with her and pulled her upper body up until she was sitting up. I pulled her eyelids up with my thumb so that she would be able to open her eyes up again.

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How I Tried to Make It More of a Morning For My Wife

By - Jul 18, 2018

I whistled bird sounds, but she didn’t open her eyes up or put a pillow over her ears or turn her face away or roll over away from the light. My wife hadn’t shifted her body since she had been in that hospital bed.

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The Dying Woman Who Looked Smaller and Older Than My Wife

By - Jul 17, 2018

They had most of her body covered up with sheets and blankets and she seemed to be too small to be my wife. Her head was propped up with a pillow and they had laid her hair out on it, but her hair looked too thin and too gray to be my wife’s hair.

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How My Wife Would Not Wake Up

By - Jul 16, 2018

My wife looked so light in their arms. I wanted to lift her up too.

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By - Jul 13, 2018

We walked for over an hour, and a lot of it I was quiet, thinking how can I ever be happy again? At the house, where our hosts spoke to us in Italian, our room was cool and dark, the windows shut, only slits of light from the spaces in the closed wooden shutters.

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Five Stories

By - Jul 9, 2018

I dug a hole today. The ground was muddy and wet. My friends helped me dig the hole.

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Three Poems

By - Jul 5, 2018

Everyone shivering in their
Leather jackets
Eating sandwiches named after
Serial killers

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excerpt from “Bad-Asses”

By - Jul 2, 2018

I ran to the kitchen and took the butcher knife out of the drawer. I put it behind my back and ran back to the porch. The crowd had grown, and everybody was chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

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