Other People’s Mothers by Patricia Q. Bidar
Other people’s mothers’ hair is the shade of a new penny. When their husbands leave, they hire us to paint their bedrooms lavender. We take breaks to lift the lids of shoe boxes stacked in the closet.
Synethesia by Len Kuntz
My brothers hear burgundy, while I hear ochre, yet it’s a wonder we can hear at all.
The Goldfish by James Norcliffe
I did not like Gloria. I sensed her disapproval and responded in kind. She aspired to be the perfect hostess, so I was a particular challenge.
In the Fishbowl by Hun Ohm
In her fingers my sister held a spoon, and in its bowl the spoon held a goldfish, which in turn held its breath as it beheld the dry world in its shiny, unblinking eyes.
Them Naming Me Trespasser by Marissa Hoffmann
Before I was lying on my front in my own piss at the edge of the platform, I was standing on the tracks facing that freight train.