To the Friend Who Isn’t Reading This

A poem about being the right friend at the right time.

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Hanging From the Ceiling

“I know it’s cold in here, Libby, but don’t you think what you’re wearing is a little much?” She would say that. My mother. I looked at her pristinely white Keds and her culottes before I shrugged. “Can we just get this over with?” I pulled my winter coat tighter over my shoulders. “We should …

Merope

I had imagined pinks and vermillions, an impossible sunset contained within an industrial warehouse. I had heard the chitter of squirrels and felt spring breezes. But when I awoke to a thump, felt the vibrations through the floor of my Nomad cell, and saw the most beautiful open door I had ever seen, I knew …

Prehensile

Summary: At a time when most humans have developed prehensile tails, a woman returns home from a trip to find distinct changes in her loafer of a son.     Bart didn't hear me come into the apartment. He remained hunched over his laptop, headphones corking his ears. The brusque taxi driver plopped my enormous …

The Art of Distraction

“SO IS THIS WHAT YOU DO HERE—make Rube Goldberg machines?” Jacob said, after I’d spread string, scissors, plastic cups, and a few small peg boards across the breakroom counter. He was sitting at the table eating a sandwich and fries from a styrofoam box. I watched as his paisley tie dipped into ketchup. That's how new he …

Searchlights

The War was over, but we didn't know it yet. We threw bio-grenades into schools, blasted blindly into sick bays, screaming, panting, until word came through the ansible, but we are not posthuman. We return home with the rage still in our throats, our eyes searchlights.  

The Luxury of Time

Margaret groped crusty tissues, two prescription bottles and a Katherine Porter novel to find her tortoiseshell frames. She knew the time of day only by the color of her bedroom; the angle of the sun hit different parts of the color-blocked curtains at different times of day. Orange meant early morning. Candace would need feeding and William …

The Bedweaver

Last week you came into my shop and told me you'd bought a fine new bed, and we agreed on a day and a time. That night I added up the sum total of our conversations, and determined that our last conversation held more words than you'd ever given me before. I slept tight in my chair with that fact over top of …