I point 6-year-old Joey’s attention to the lime-green baby caterpillar curling itself along the sidewalk in front of our homes, and before I take a second breath, he lifts his miniature Nike and stamps the poor thing to goo, spreads it from the bottom of his shoe to the curb, scraping and scraping it […]
Time folds back and back on itself like my uncle’s accordion in our airless attic pleated patterns create shortcuts to the future I tumble through trap doors & silent tunnels at the speed of light, arriving breathless in a world where our […]
They cut the fog like ghosts amidst ghosts. Their lives are lived too fast to accurately photograph. The list of “also ran” grows. And soon almost new, the almost men, barely teens, are men in the least, men soon at the most like ghosts. This, the earthly mist knows, and even the end […]
Prelude Billy ends his marriage with a note that says it’s me, not you; you’re great, I’m not. He leaves it on the counter under a vanilla-scented candle along with his last paycheck. Then he waits across the street in his Dodge Dart until she comes home. When she spots him, he presses his palm […]
First, tell the gringo baseball player how your husband, Roberto, always knew he was going to die young. If he has no reaction, tell him about what was on the plane: fresh water, plantains, rolls of gauze, baby shoes, powdered milk. Hundreds and hundreds of chancletas. And even if he doesn’t ask, tell him those […]
My chest tightens as fire grazes Sam’s skin, but finally he tosses the match he’s let burn down in his fingers, and the pile of brush jumps into flames. Pockets of damp sap crackle and hiss. We retrieve an armful each of empty aerosol cans from the silo, cans Sam stockpiled over many summers spent […]
Robin Black, this year’s final judge for the Marguerite McGlinn Prize for Fiction, and keynote speaker for Philadelphia Stories’ 2016 Push to Publish conference, seemed to burst, fully formed, upon the national literary scene with the publication of her story collection, If I loved You, I Would Tell You This.
He didn’t know the thrill of the kill, but he knew he didn’t want to kill the thrill for his father. Everything in him felt scared, told him not to do it— words he could not echo. He sat in the tree stand with his coloring books, glanced up if something […]
I point 6-year-old Joey’s attention to the lime-green
I don’t remember when the panic attacks began, but I remember where.