The sparrow literally dropped through the flue into Helen’s cold fire place at just barely daylight. At first, she thought she imagined it.
Tag: Mondays Are Murder
Blades reached her just as the light at State and Washington turned green . . .
“Keep Portland Weird.” I see it on signs all over town, but what does it even mean?
Ah, those eyes. You look into them, and you still see the fire, at least for a little while . . .
Flood Street. I wound up there after a long period of debauchery, or so I’m told . . .
Bashir had witnessed his share of riddled bodies since the Americans had invaded, but this was the first from his own hand . . .
I pass Elaine the banana bread. Oh, I’m sure she’s had a trying week, I tell her, clucking in sympathy, listening like the good friend I am . . .
Had I actually just dropped Leland? The red-winged blackbirds seemed to think so. . .
Featured: Black Interest
- eel on reef
- Pressure Makes Diamonds: Becoming the Woman I Pretended to Be
- Dance of the Jakaranda
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Sita)
- Gathering of Waters
- I Love You Too
- The Spring Thrills Digit
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Nne)
- Bedrock Faith
- The Angels’ Share
- Black Lotus