It’s dusk and Gail’s probably pitching a bitch by now anyway, so Carl stops down the street from their walk-up and takes a moment to examine his new sunburn in the lighted courtesy mirror. He can’t help smiling.
He’s poking his forehead with a finger after parking in the lot when Gail calls out through the bedroom window.
Continue reading “Did You Hear Me? By Mick Bennett”
I remember my niece best as a child: red hair, faded blue eyes, skinny arms and legs; her movements so fast and agile that I called her Rabbit. She was a rare soul. This became apparent when, at four years old, she entertained her parents by gently guiding their old cat, Charlie, towards their neighbor’s timid puppy. Her small hands coaxed them closer until they sniffed each other tentatively, her face brightening with a hopeful smile. But after that greeting, the cat lashed out with a paw, leaving behind a bloody cut and a whimpering dog.
Continue reading “Book of Condolences by Evan Parker”
The bubble gum is a large wad in my mouth. I chew it until it is soft and then produce a limp bubble between my lips. I suck it back in and start again, chewing and molding the gum between my teeth hoping for better results.
Continue reading “Good Girls and Goddesses by Rachel Sievers”
I only eat meat, what the kids nowadays call a carnivore diet. Out back of the house, I got a garden, but that’s for the wife and kids. I haven’t had a vegetable since I was thirteen years old, and for that, I blame my pops. Blame my mama for other things, like why I save every dollar I earn for booze and smokes and complain about the lights being left on in rooms nobody’s in. They’re the reason my two boys are running around with ripped jeans and holes in their shoes, why I got a woodstove instead of a furnace, and why I don’t allow pets under my roof, no matter how much the kids beg me.
Continue reading “This Sorrowful Home by Devin James Leonard”
Walter Orthmann died at age one-hundred-two this month. He holds the known world record for most years working for one employer. Mr. Orthmann labored at a Brazilian textile plant from 1938 to 2022; from age sixteen to an even hundred. Eighty four years.
Continue reading “Week 496: End of Days Jobs”
It’s late in the afternoon in late October. I’m at the zoo with my ten-year-old son, Elijah. His mother, my wife Sally, chose our son’s name. Sally comes from a religious family and goes to Mass daily. Elijah’s staring at the elephants, the largest land mammals on earth. One of the three is particularly massive. He has a huge head, large ears, and a long trunk that is sucking up drinking water from a big puddle of rainwater. My son and I have been coming here most weekends as of late. Ever since I lost my better paying job and Sally started working part-time. I’ve been coming here since I was a small boy. Elephants have been a main attraction here for as long as I can remember.
Continue reading “At the Zoo by Gil Hoy”
There are facts as cool as gravity: If you drop a jam lid, it will fall jammy-side down. Humans make many myths. The guy who takes senior photos will be the single creepiest guy your senior has ever met.
Continue reading “Mind the Gap by Angela Townsend”
There are pieces of the past I keep on her behalf. I tie my hair in a bun and start humming a song while I concentrate on lining my lips. The kids are asleep, the dishwasher is working, the counter is wiped, the door is locked. I am getting ready to talk to my grandmother over Zoom. Preparing to reconnect. I haven’t seen her in a while. When I think of her, I remember the cigarette smell, the afternoons sitting on her lap while she watches T.V., the feeling of her long, red nails running gently through my back, up and down. I remember her evening routine.
Continue reading “Heirloom by Natalia Pericchi Paga”
Sometimes I feel sick remembering how I talked to him. I want to go back and shake myself – No, Robert! No! Cut it out! But I did and I can’t undo it. Besides, he only ever mentions it in passing and when he does I sort myself out. I suppose he thinks I might shout again, but I don’t want to. I hated that I did.
Continue reading “Guitar Lessons by Otto Alexander”
I’m talking with Mrs. Everton, the anorexic faced one-lung Grandmother puffing cigs by the wood stove as snow falls outside. She tells me more blizzards fell in years past, we’re not snowed in yet. She coughs, continues again in that smoky voice; my best friend Keith’s over by the fridge laughing with Lori Baker. Lori’s Mrs. Everton’s niece, black haired, pale faced, arms thin as branches stuck from a frost covered sapling, and fifteen years old.
Continue reading “What I Will Not Become by Harrison Kim”
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