Author: admin

I fear not death that it will come It’s the how that causes my torment. Will she kick on my door to forewarn? A storm moving quickly that drags me away? Or passes me by and comes back again? Will she thunder and pound,...

It must have taken George hours to set up the fire in our backyard. And now that I look back on it, he probably had to get up before dawn to do that work: Lay out the wood with spaces between the pieces to let the flames glide...

(for Barbara and Leslie) I He must have hated it his day job that foppish Englishman chain-smoking rehearsal pianist for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet School hated us a class of prepubescent girls in black leotards and slippers from...

Your eyes open but the sun isn’t there like mornings the week before and you find your toes that hit the floor cold so you bring them back under the blanket your brain is a sluice carrying hyacinth flood waters crashing against...

I come with flowers every first day of the month when spring allows, when summer welcomes, when fall offers final blooms dark yellow, orange, red. Two stones—one larger, the other like a polished bowl set upside down on the...

I learned from her well, my gran. Fairies she said will come to us all if we pause, if we wait, if we see. She liked her whiskey, my gran. Always leave a drop behind she said and gold will come to thee. I miss her so, my gran....

for Jan Smith Who took away the snake? No one took away a snake. Who took away the snake? There was no snake. What is the red rock that lines this path? Iron. The Germans used to mine it. What is the red rock that lines this...

I felt safer outside of the house, the house tumbling down, never finished. I stayed by the rocky driveway’s white sand and watched small ants hide in their hole. The spider in my father’s garden was beautiful, not terrible, and...

It took me but an instant to see she wasn’t my Lady Ophelia: an uncharacteristic smirk even in death, her color too outdoor-tawny, her fingernails jagged and toil-muddy. From the marks ringing her throat, she hadn’t drowned, but...

When Lady Ophelia accosted me— us as alike as two lambs from the same ewe—I waited for her to make her proposal: her tear-bloated unhappiness plain as a play script, even if I can’t read, though once I hear my lines, I remember...