It wasn’t as if Zanti hadn’t made a rug before. She threaded her wide-eyed needle with orange wool and stitched the folded selvedge. Usually she would draw out a design on gridded paper before she began, but this time she… Continue Reading
He’s busking in the busy town square. His appearance is inspired by the classical master, Marcel Marceau. Black ballet shoes, black trousers with black suspenders, a sleeveless black-and-white striped shirt, white gloves, and white makeup juxtaposing his face with his… Continue Reading
Samantha etched the white oak onto her hand and arm: her wrist and forearm the trunk, her fingers the branches, fingertips the leaves, and on her palm the date and our initials. She wrote our first kiss inside her upper… Continue Reading
Andrew timed it perfect: he opened the front door just at the moment Mama’s thrown picture frame hit the wall right behind Daddy. Neither of them heard him leave. He learned early to get out unnoticed when he wasn’t the… Continue Reading
She was the wrong size. Everything about her was too much. She’d been told so all her life. For example, her words were too many and too big. “Not you, someone else,” her teacher said when she knew the answers… Continue Reading
Alkina opens wide one eye against the cold steel of her late husband’s telescope and remembers on a clear night, less than three months ago, Mare Fecunditatis, appearing so close she would have sworn water lay there. That morning he’d… Continue Reading