Jolie biked faster than Claire could skate so she held to the hem of Jolie’s rosy dress, fanning out like a parachute, while they circled the Eiffel Tower. “Faster,” Claire…
white and birds-eyes black black the counting sheep one shivering ewe’s fleece oils my hand I spin to song a whir of wheel spin wool so fine the loom I…
A vase a lamp a shade on the lamp with pink that looks like it should be wallpaper a forest a window view a stream through light dirt turning edges…
if not beauty what then, am I trying to do? I think, measurement. I think, memory. I think, shadow: block the light, trace the crooked outlines of your jaw and…
He found her in the wood, he said Among the seep of blood that was shed On fracturing snow, dark as velvet Cold as loss. That was what he said,…
on a line by Peg Duthie If I hadn’t made you bleed, would you still be telling me over? You can dye my hair, trim it, updo, ringlets, paint…
The coat never made much sense in California. It was double-breasted, with the two rows of buttons, padded in the chest and shoulders, and it sort of had tails, a…
replay for her the sounds of currents kissing silver bellies of the blue haired siren’s song and the seaman’s roaring of fallen ships at sea spilling remnants of bow share…
I remember the time when everyone had to wear red shirts. It was a forced fashion, to be sure. Heavy. Enslaving. Enchanting. I remember watching the queen throw shirts on…
I don’t mind – you have the right look of someone under a spell, the mystique of an imaginary captive with no hope of being reunited with wild cousins and…
Gingerbread House Lit Mag 