the father whispers, let’s get the hell out of here. At home, the father and son walk the path to the shed to put in a home-brew.
Between the Lines
John had always found women hard to read. Some favoured long, looping fonts, a copperplate calligraphy like wedding invitations.
Appeasement
I’m late downstairs for breakfast and find Charlotte has already mauled today’s Manchester Guardian, folding it clumsily to the small ads.
Bare Hands
My Uncle Louie beat a man to death with his bare hands, the same hands that now hold my baby in the living room of my newly dead grandmother’s house.
Body as a Single-Family Home
My ribcage must be the foyer, all high ceilings and wasted space and a place for the air to circulate. Small voices echoing off the walls of my lungs.
Liberado
The old man strolls down Avinguda Gaudi, shopping sack in hand, unburdened by clothing. He seems perfectly decent with his trim, white beard and hairless torso.
My Brother, the Salmon
He’s swimming upstream again, dogged and lean, ready to spawn his latest ideas. I wonder aloud if perhaps he doesn’t need to have all the answers.
The Rental
At first I refused to leave the house in a robe in front of the new neighbors, and now it hangs open while I take out the trash.
When You Find That Thing You’ve Lost, Will You Dare To Lose It Again?
The lava, which is all the colours of a human heart, flows away into holes between cobbles and into drains, along gutters, out of the town square, out of the town.
Iron Shoes
My parents, Olive, and I arrive at Uncle Don’s Memorial cookout after a day spent laying flowers at graves.