Paper Dolls by Robert Scotellaro
The slick booklets are spread out, and he is looking at snapshots of young women, my father, late in life. (Four wives later, two in the ground—my mother was his first.)
The Nouns by Daryl Scroggins
He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, so he decided to write it—but that didn’t work either because he had to make big spiraling motions with his arm before he could get the pen down to the letter he wanted to write.
Coffee by Edgar Omar Avilés
You took the first sip of your coffee, then noticed that it wasn’t coffee—it was you.
Not None by Bruce Holland Rogers
The restaurant was a short drive from the assisted living center, so once a month, Flip took his grandfather there for a “jail break.”
Letting Go by Pamela Painter
I’m standing at the south rim of the Grand Canyon taking photographs of florid purple striations, of undulating rock that sinks to alarming depths.