You chose me for widow not for wife transferring your pain on schedule I turned darker you turned paler on schedule. You chose me for elegy. This spring the confused migrations collide with the smokeless chimney. I air myself out with the mildewed wardrobe you left hung like an armory. Oh you’ve done it, you’ve…
He is the nail and she hits him on the head. Slowly, but most definitely he is disappearing. He is reappearing becoming the board becoming the wall and the walls becoming her home and such a home has she chosen that the windows often change their positions and the floor is wall to wall elevator….
On the inside edge of suburbs nothing approaches bear. Laying rubber around a one-way block, trying to find a man named Evanshevski, I stop to ask a man if he is him. He promises to help. Nothing approaches bear. No way anyway to go for help. We drive around, trying to find a one-way girl…
"Would you like to go and see the fields, Jenny?" Ellen asked her. They were clearing the breakfast plates into a sink full of soapy water when she said this, and the question seemed sudden and out of context. Jennifer supposed it was just a thoughtless question to break up the silence, for she realized…
Packing up, a new swing around a lamp post and down the gummy street each step has a trash can has a wall with a window with curtains has a railing and a pair of legs rising from high heels up and up on through her shoulders up above the rooftops. Night lit like a…
For more than twenty years now, Gina Berriault has been writing remarkably sensitive and powerful fiction. Her style is lucid, lyrical and very much her own, and she seems to have any number of strategies for breaking your heart. The first Gina Berriault story I ever read, long ago, let me know at once that…
There was a man when I was fourteen who came to our house to dig out the ditch. I was at the age when boredom was as thick as the mud at the bottom of the river and everything – my mother, my father, the road, the house, the barn, all the trees that I…
The girl and the elderly man descended the steep stairs to the channel's narrow beach and walked along by the water's edge. Several small fishing boats were moving out to sea, passing a freighter entering the bay, booms raised, a foreign name at her bow. His sturdy hiking boots came down flatly on the firm…
I would like to take it all back, this suit doesn’t belong to me. I’m the undercover man, an agent transferred to a far district. What I fear is a murmur from across the fields, the giant leech that just slid over the porch railing. If I listen to the singer — it’s a state…
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