It was the splatter of liquid on my face that woke me. Shitty-quality beer, with a taste of loam. Awareness returned as it puddled beneath me, where the tree roots grew against my back. Feet on the ... [+]
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Readings on her works
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Short Fiction
Poetry
From a High Perch, Waiting
He climbed a telephone pole first;
next, a cell phone tower,
because he'd heard of ancient
... [+]
Short Fiction
When No Cats are Gray
Through the weeping household stalked a small black cat—just past kittenhood, and more gamine than gangly. She darted past the skirts of a grieving wife as the woman buried her face in a ... [+]