The Overstory
A five year-old in 1968 paints a picture. What’s in it? First, a mother, giver of paper and paints, saying Make me something beautiful. Then a house with a door floating in the air, and a chimney with curls of spiraling smoke. Then four Appich children in...
The Buffalo
But it was spring. Even the lion licked the lioness’s smooth forehead. Both animals blond. The woman averted her eyes from the cage, where the hot smell alone recalled the carnage she’d come looking for at the Zoological Gardens. Then the lion paced calmly, mane...
The Goldfinch
That night, at Boris’ — lying drunk on my half of the batik-draped mattress — I tried to remember what Pippa had looked like. But the moon was so large and clear through the uncurtained window that it made me think instead of a story my mother had told me, about...
My Year of Rest and Relaxation
“Can I have another Xanax?” Reva asked. “I can’t spare another, Reva. Sorry.” She was quiet for a while. The air got tense. “The only thing I can think to do to make Ken pay for the way he’s jerked me around is to keep it. But I won’t. Anyway, thanks for listening.”...