Fingers through fences pecked and nibbled and bitten by chickens, beagle pups, and bunnies. We were bare-chested, blonde and tan and we ran barefoot and we ran hard turning green grass brown and flattening the yard until the ground was hard-packed like pavement. Mom and Dad never had nice things, a tidy house, an … More little boys
Round-faced and tow-headed. Tan from hours of summer sun. A kid on the swings. Back-and-forth. Little hands wrapped tight. Around the chains. Arms and legs pumping. Eyes closed on the backswing. Open on the return. My first taste of freedom. Like flying. Summer days spent on the swings. Singing Elvis Presley songs. For my Dad, … More swinging
I lifted the cat and hugged her. Even though she’s shit on our bedroom floor and I stepped in it twice. Barefoot. Once, as I clomped my way to the john in the dark. Bladder so full of vodka, Sprite, and water that I thought I’d never go back to bed. The other, a weird … More the never end
I have many faults. I’m impatient. Lack discipline. I’m too lazy to understand our differences. And so, I get stuck in deep ruts. My wheels spin. I create paranoia. Make problems that don’t exist. Because I’m bored. Like a coyote in a cage. Running back and forth and back and forth and back and forth … More understand
Have fun before they’ve grown up and no longer want to play. Love, so both of you never forget the reason you came together. Sing even if you’re off-key and people stare or start to laugh. Cry when you have to. You should never be ashamed of your feelings. Fight for the good. For your … More an unexpected end
Dollar store stockings, ten cent candy canes, a six-and-a-half foot tall fake tree that we got for free from St. Vincent de Paul. Nearly everything we own is from a bargain basement or has been handed down. Our candle sticks, Christmas lights, stuffed elves. Even the wood in the fireplace was given to us. … More a few days after Christmas
Merry Christmas (fiction, previously published in the short story collection, A BETTER PLACE, in 2002) Grandma hollers from the kitchen, “Somebody better go upstairs and check on Kelly. I think she’s crying.” I’m 12 years old. Sitting on the big green velour couch. Feeling itchy. I’m wearing this new Christmas … More a very normal christmas
