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Last Leg

Tripod has been peacefully asleep for many minutes, yet I am still running my hand from her ear down to her hip, stroking her again and again. But now I remember why I brought her here, and I look up into the solemn face of the old vet and nod.

Running Away

A niece’s realization, a mother’s uncontrollable urge, a father’s double life

The Puberty Of Smell

Leaves Under Snow

The Orange Armchair

Fixing What’s Broken

A puddle of antifreeze, a porcelain doll, an extension cord

Umbrella

Banana Hymn

You were ready to don the handcuffs, leg chains, and orange, ill-fitting jumpsuit required of all prisoners in transit. But you didn’t really want to go to your dad’s funeral. That’s what you’d told the man a few weeks before his bone cancer finally killed him.

If We’re Lucky

“Prophet?”No one had called me that in a while. Before I turned around, before I looked for his face in the mirror behind the bar, I knew, I felt who it was.

Locked Doors

Chopping a door into slivers; sitting two seats back, one row over to his right; being swept up by an undertow