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Siblings
Fiction
The Priest Of Halfway
Enos had died that year, pathetically, and Jethro had seen in his eyes before they closed only relief that he no longer had to keep a parallel set of double-entry books for that God. That God was busy all the time, balancing numbers. Jethro had no desire for His heaven, and no fear of His hell.
August 1988Poetry
I Have No Brother
The only furniture / in that tiny room / where my brother lives / is a mirror / on a plain white / wall. When I enter / that room / there is only myself. // I am searching for / my brother. I have no brother.
June 1988Fiction
A Little Irish Water Music
Occasionally, when Dad belted up his trousers with twine, she turned as brittle as snapbread, but in those early years, she was usually willing to dismiss our days as the pruning from which decorous bloom must one day erupt.
March 1988Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
Goodbye
When my mother screamed into the phone for me to get over there, “Daddy’s dead,” a long waiting period ended. My father’s failing health over several years had left him almost helpless; he had demanded and received from my mother as much care and supervision as a infant.
February 1988Fiction
The Dance
During this holiday season, Sharon has gotten into the habit of counting how many of her ex-lovers show up at any given party.
November 1987Readers Write
Selfishness
Popcorn strategy, domestic violence, the importance of being cute
November 1987Readers Write
Lost Opportunities
Time with family, an interview with Todd Rundgren, a suicide attempt
October 1987Fiction
Intuition
“I love you,” I shout. I can’t believe I spoke so directly. Usually I prefer to communicate on a more sub-conscious level. “I love you, Christa.” But Christa is already typing, and has written over my words.
June 1987Essays, Memoirs & True Stories
Pennies From Grandma
I’ve been passing pennies on the sidewalk. There seem to be a lot, as if I’m not the only one who doesn’t bother anymore to lean down and pick them up. After all, what good’s a penny anymore? It’s enough to buy a memory. Every time I see one I think of my Grandma Bralley.
September 1986Fiction
Tully
Now in the long evenings after dinner she often found herself standing before the bathroom mirror, trying hard to glimpse some of the prettiness her husband had always championed.
March 1986
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