My sister said she was coming back as a bird, that way she’d be able to see what was happening from above, be able to see our house, me dawdling to school
Me and Bobby under an upturned dingy on the beach trying to get it off with each other but overcome with laughter and lying there in a sandy tangle.
You remember when he said you were beautiful, a clean thing that would save him. You were both running towards the Alligator Aquarium on the waterfront. There was a small open shaft on the roof, he said, easy to slip through.
My husband is a choker. Every now and again, he’ll cough then suddenly rise, the dinner plate flung to the floor. Food thrown everywhere.
People see my grandmother walk down the road with a towel over her shoulder. The local pig hunters, burly men in thick plaid jackets and fur lined boots shake their heads in disbelief.
Jazz Novitz is my name. I’m the hitch hiker who was kidnapped, forced to live in a tree. People remember my name, what with all the z’s.
I never touched the gorilla, I say. I got better things to do.