Alice was the first of us to fade away. The first signs began when winter dawned. Early, before the sun rose, the morning dew solidified into crystals, which crunched like gravel beneath our feet. One by one, we would creep awake, the seven of us, pull on our hoodies and
Read MoreExisting. That was what the weeks after the funeral felt like—a string of continual stresses from the mountain of immediate family responsibilities, punctuated with pangs of overwhelming sadness, and then those sudden
History of present illness—A 45-year-old male with no significant past medical history.
Voronezh, Russia, 26 December 2018 When I got off the bus, my
Jameson saw the selkie three times. The first time he was little more than a boy, fifteen and gangly with it, walking along the beach drunk on summer and the rum he’d
Acronicta leporina It’s late April in Bisbee and the sun is in the wrong place over the Swisshelm mountains for the kind of hot it is. The perry penstemons in the yard
“Call me back as soon as you get this,” the woman said on my voice mail, her voice tense. She was the director of Korean adoptions at the agency we had used
I’m Jane Doe. Isn’t that what we call the unidentifiable dead, those silenced souls that no one nearby recognizes? I have, of course, another name, but for a long time, Jane Doe
History of present illness—A 45-year-old male with no significant past medical history. His symptoms initially beganon Sunday with left ear pain and tooth pain. Also on Monday, he developed a rash over
I put the slip mat from the dish pit in the three sink.I hang it over the three walls. I spray it with the hose.I watch the flour and sugar and mushrooms
Around the time that Amal was first admitted to the hospital, my great aunt had a dream that her late husband pulled up to Amal’s house in a white Cadillac. We have
He saw a ghost once. Must have been about ten, maybe eleven years old. On nights like tonight, when the ghost was foremost on Brady Scrugg’s mind, he abandoned his apartment for
I. It is the generation of largesse, bangs that yearn to be bouffants like those you see atop your grandmother’s head in old photographs. Your bangs, teased out like a difficult puzzle,
Lights dangled from the ceiling at Seattle’s King Station, illuminating the white granite walls. A small-scale elegance compared to the Union Station where my two-month trip began, but still beautiful, iridescent, awe-inspiring.
