Brother, she said. I fed you your bottle. Give me your soul in exchange. As if that matters. As if that changes anything. No. You never drank her poison. You spat, then smashed its vial beneath your boot. She should have followed your example. You tell me this as we leave its deep woods grave, …
The day after, Birdie bins and washes, shelves detritus of a home upended. Dust clogs her nose. Tickles her eyes. She sneezes. Blinks. Sneezes yet again. Birdie knows dust is partly skin, that skin sloughs and regenerates each moon cycle while her bones and heart require ten years of cycles to renew. By which math, …
Behind three-starred glass, we swirl pinot while my shade approaches the crowded intersection. Mousy hair, thin-soled Keds. A backpack, frayed, beats an awkward tempo as she scans facades and faces. Awaits the signal forward. On green, she crosses to me. Presses palms to mine, reflected. I want to rush into the twilight. To console her. …
Once, my brother ate an onion whole. I was six, he seven, and partners in harmless crime. Cowpoke hats and cap gun pops our soundtrack. Dared by neighbor boys, a burly sullen group whom he admired, he chewed and heaved, tears raining, while I stood guard. Too late I learned people are onions. Sweet and …
A grizzled, gap-toothed man asks to break a twenty for his bill. I keep all m’fives, he tells the waitress. The man at the counter laughs. I like keeping all my money, too. Naw, the fives. He holds a bill aloft. The ones with E. When I was little and loud, my favorite word was, …
My Name was Supposed to be Elizabeth Ann 