She had been an undertaker’s wife for seven years. The mornings, she lay with her life projecting onto the back of her eyelids, between sheets that etched her skin with grains of foreign dirt. She bore witness to his livelihood...Read More
Who is he? I’m dead sure he didn’t graduate with us. Look. Standing behind him. Lola. How brave of her! I didn’t think she’d make it after our 45th. Who in the world— ninety degrees and wearing black. Look, there’s Irene. Yes,...Read More
Motionless water Rain falling from the Heavens Ripples in the pond A.K. Finch is a writer, teacher, and poet. She lives in Southern California with her husband, daughter, rescue dog, and cat. Her poems have been published by The...Read More
Vibrant green foliage surrounding my peripheral Steady flowing blue burbling stream Yellow brown slime covered rock path Fallen branches littering the foot-made mud path Abandoned graying spider webs whipping with the breeze ...Read More
How long it’s been The beasts, the fields, the fowl all of which you named; they miss you so flesh of your flesh, bone of your bone. How you must long for it now; taste of my shining pear. For every joy there is a price to be...Read More
I haven’t spoken to my father since Christmas, when I see him now, a couple hours late with a girl not much older than me, a cocky rotten-toothed smile on his face. This is when I’m supposed to say I hate my father, or love him,...Read More
When Alice becomes a guest at tea-party I sneak in too. Hear ridiculous riddles including the famous “Raven like a writing desk”. But that one in particular makes no sense. Did Stephen King or Poe have a shining answer? ...Read More
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