The weaverwoman clips bat wings in the forest every night. I’ve heard but never seenmyself until now, how she breaks their bones. Bat skins twirl like kites in the moon’s glow. “Leave the poor thing alone, dear.” I say. The… Continue Reading
I could picture it clearly. I’d hear her squeaky-trainer footsteps on the landing. She’d put her head round my bedroom door. She’d widen her eyes at me — her version of a smile, an ‘I’m-glad-to-see-you, let-me-take-you-in’ sort of gesture. She’d… Continue Reading
He could hear vague, bubbly rumblings with his ear against her bare belly, her heartbeat a distant drumming. They had both worked up a sweat; it had been some time since they last had some “private time,” as it had… Continue Reading
I. In Edinburgh the bagpipes are for tourists. I’m sorry but it’s true. I don’t mean to be a snob. But in Stirling they’re more genuine. They roll over the floodplains and you never see who’s playing them. You can… Continue Reading
Kelly met Frank on a snowy night in January because Megan kept her late at Patrick’s bar. “Megan, it’s snowing. We need to go.” “Just one more,” Megan pouted like a kid, her lips full and red. By the time… Continue Reading
“The old orchard was good to us. Nearly 30 years,” my husband sighs. “But the replanted version will be more efficient.” He shoots me a sideways glance, his invitation to ask. “Do tell.” I smile as I angle my eyes… Continue Reading
Alice had no idea he had taken the photo, at least not at the time. She would see it later though, after it was developed, and they were both married to different people. He must have taken the snap as… Continue Reading
His lashes are so dark against his skin. Unable to resist, I kiss him gently on his temple. He stirs, swallows, and rolls on his side away from me. I run a hand softly over his shoulder, down his side,… Continue Reading
The years have been kind when I see George again. I’m wandering the carnival alone, licking the last bit of cotton candy stickiness from my fingers. It’s Father’s Day weekend, and Daniel and I have made the trek back to… Continue Reading
My grandmother’s voice sounded like static, the scratchy noise you hear as you are tuning into an AM radio station. Her awkwardly unique way of communicating was virtually unintelligible to most anyone outside our family circle. When I was around… Continue Reading