Short Fiction and Poetry

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 [..]

Olivia stopped and turned back to admire the glorious orange sunset that was melting into the horizon behind her. [...]

My mom told me the local supermarket had a sale on oranges this week. I don’t even really like oranges, but I know they’re good for you[...]

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” [...]

My mother’s request was not unreasonable. She wanted a fence. She wanted a fence to keep the dog in and the rabbits out. [...]

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

A young woman in a black calico dress with onyx-black hair knocked on our door. She was lithe, with slim lips and penetrating green eyes[..]

Tonight the goblin moon burns red And ghost clouds sail across the sky, As, one by one, the restless dead Go marching slowly by. [...]

When Trish placed the new key in the new lock and opened the old door, what she saw inside bore no resemblance to the home where [...]