“We still have to pay. Too much,” he said. His words were getting stuck in his nostrils as he tried to speak and would sputter them out. His steps were slow and the linoleum had the evening’s story spattered all over it.
Such a Thing as Permanence
I Do, But Maybe I Don’t
It was my daughter’s idea for us to get married in her backyard. Leah had it all planned before asking us if it was something we might consider. I could tell by the way her eyes shone bright green with purpose. Already a caterer had been lined up and the menu planned. All we had to say was yes, and Leah would handle the rest.
Fever Snow and other Poems
One by one he vanishes, part
of a long line I don’t remember
falling around, covers the open
book please close your eyes,
Where You Belong
'A true place,' sounded like something Rob would say after leaving a warm bed on a moonless night to laze on the cold ground and awe at the sight of three planets aligned. He could make you want to believe it was all that mattered.
Super
One morning, Kind-Responsible-No-Baggage-Man isn’t in bed. He saunters in at 10AM with cappuccinos and he’s not wearing his mask. There’s a purple bruise ringed on his cheek like fish lips. “I need to tell you something,” he says.
Mrs. Osmond by John Banville
The language in Mrs. Osmond is like the colors of autumn in New England. It’s brilliant even in its decay.