Matt sneezed all over the pig fetus and then wiped his nose with his glove covered with formaldehyde and who knows what viruses.
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
Vespers—a chronological designation unfamiliar to a Methodist town like Pacific Grove.
David’s gloved hand slid over the frozen cable railing for balance, and Claire concentrated on her footing.
We huddled around the card table last night, scheming about dusting outta this joint during the morning bus trip.
“Thieves,” Officer Summers said, “are generally lazy.”
Near dawn I wake. / The pale blue light cascades over me. / It drills and spills down through me…
He fought the steering wheel as the old Pontiac struggled to keep its footing in the dense falling snow . . .
My elementary school invited me in for an assembly before I was set to leave. Kids made banners and gave me good luck cards.
Featured: Black Interest
- Not for Everyday Use
- The System of Dante’s Hell
- An Unkindness of Ghosts
- Gathering of Waters
- Gomer’s Song
- New Worlds, Old Ways: Speculative Tales from the Caribbean
- The Necessary Hunger
- The Warmest December
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Sita)
- The Roving Tree
- Nairobi Noir (Kenya)