I find warmth between the pines of two countries past the forgotten wooden rake and shattered granite sundial. The trail stretches along the spit shedding light by light dark into…
After sex, she straightens her stockings then reapplies her lipstick and as she rolls down the tube, she feels a phantom, a ghost curling up inside her chest She remembers…
We’ve gotten it wrong all these years, Cinderella needed fire to be reborn, like jack pine or birch which rushes in to claim the land after a fresh fire. Consider…
When have we seen our own hands as if a beast apart, like Descartes, not belonging to our thinking core? Hands gone rogue. Left hand renegade. Right hand scapegrace. A…
“I can’t leave you here,” she said, “the mud is deep and your tires are bald.” I didn’t know tread but I went along, placing my boots behind her steps,…
Your fingers are ivory keys playing careful and tedious scales across my body. I wish you would crawl into my mouth, thread your tongue with my vocal cords; remind me…
In Finland the children dress as witches on Palm Sunday and banish evil spirits in exchange for candy. I wish we could do that on my favorite day in church,…
“The real haunting is the light itself.” —Erica Wright When you speak his name a second time, do not grin. His spirit will slip past your teeth into your core.…
I’m behind a bar of regulars as my son tells me he’s leaving. I hand him a beer because I don’t know how to be frightened. I hear “proud” as…
We are the wolf-toothed women whose mouths drip apple poison. Children, beware: the night is dark and full of terror but the real danger lurks within the house— and by…
Gingerbread House Lit Mag 