Short Fiction and Poetry

The pensioned depravity of eyes obsessed by needlepoint loss of hunger for friends grasping worn leather purses [...]

The swallows of Shady Bend carry the ghosts on the wisps of their tails, dragging them to the bridge from the muddy banks of the Saline[..]

oh, but she’s a breezy, cool one today, a tempestuous zephyr running roughshod over early spring reveries of blissful meadows [...]

A plush of cheddar and eggs. As I fork it up, the ghosts of Harvard Square surround me, drawn by the thick aroma. [...]

My daughter calls this morning on her way to buy a bagel, it’s raining she says, grey and spring-raining, and here [...]

Your soul resembles distant horizons. Like burning stars abandoned between dawn and dusk, the evening skies are as heavy as your heart.[...]

While the false teeth chatter in the man’s tired mouth. . . Oh, what a world! the old woman says to no one in particular [...]

He said I caught his eye and wouldn’t let go after the rain that June afternoon. He saw my sparkle and watched me flutter [...]

I’m thinking of a number between one and ten. It gives me something to think about. [...]

in the suburban fields of my archetypal childhood there arose strange shudders of unintended violence [...]

This traitor came from a long             line of zero in, drop the load, circle             around to catch the explosion [...]

The cougar’s pacing. I want to shave. I need to comb my hair. This isn’t easy. [...]

all there is inside the burr three perfect chestnuts arthritic hands wringing each other olive trees [...]

A waking stretch and then you try a run the only time of day you want to play wipe out in a valiant lunge for Bear.  Carried to [...]

"I walk along like blood seeking its wound" Like the parched whispers of roots Descending from a sky of sea-holly [...]            

I wasn’t wearing sunglass to look cool, or to disguise my identity to hide from the police, not that anyone would think that I was one [...]

I never expected to have a conversation with Jim Harrison, but that’s where an order of lamb vindaloo, four beers, and a restless sleep [..]

I’m a leg man, never said that to anyone, maybe Elf, but now both Instagram and Pinterest are sure of it, and let me know it, [...]

There’s a necklace in a drawer with the memory of cracked hands, piano hymns, and my grandmother’s bliss singing “Joy to the World” [...]

Spirit is the more accurate word, not poltergeist antics or hints of chill despite the frigidity which first formed. [...]