Sep 8, 2018 | Fiction, Short Stories |
Ghosts and EmptiesI have somehow become a woman who yells, and, because I do not want to be a woman who yells, whose little children walk around with frozen, watchful faces, I have taken to lacing on my running shoes after dinner and going out into the twilit streets...
Jan 25, 2016 | Featured, Fiction |
All of the Indians must have tragic features: tragic noses, eyes, and arms. Their hands and fingers must be tragic when they reach for tragic food. The hero must be a half-breed, half white and half Indian, preferably from a horse culture. He should often weep alone....
Feb 27, 2013 | Fiction, My Lies, Poetry |
Wake up with your head on the passenger next to you… The fantasy of the person you love Is a ghost. Nothing of life manifests In the fantasy of the person you love. No sweat or disagreement or delight Will complicate your imaginings. And so how poor a reflection of...
