reflection
the wind can’t quite decide which way to blow a busload of kids, chattering voices and basketballs bouncing, echoing off of housefronts, a helicopter, the train. then suddenly, silence.
the wind can’t quite decide which way to blow a busload of kids, chattering voices and basketballs bouncing, echoing off of housefronts, a helicopter, the train. then suddenly, silence.
one tiny off-white rose for each new story and spring is hardly just begun a friend steps back and savors the sprawling bush while the critics find the flaw in each petal
her face was paler than her foundation. “he had a wristband, like he’d just been released from the hospital, and he was randomly taunting people, acting crazy, and then the train was coming, and he tried to push this guy in front of the train, and luckily, people near them reacted quickly, and jumped him.” […]
the evening’s clear. wisteria gilds the gates, expectant, like the thought that in some mail truck, over town, there waits your book of poems from a friend
a flourishing potted tree, decorated with tiny foil-wrapped gift boxes. a rotting gourd, squirrel-bitten, and carefully placed atop a fence, peppered with ants