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Child of the Light
“Are you Jewish?” a young woman asks as mom and I step into the summer heat outside Kroger's market. “Yeah. I am,” I reply, an unfamiliar pride landing in my chest. The woman smiles, and holds up a cellophane bag. “Would you like some Shabbat candles?” “Sure,” I say, taking…
In the Colored Waiting Room
When I was about eight, I found it easiest to be unashamed of my father when he stood at the counter of his small pharmacy. I spent hours watching him type prescription labels on the ancient Royal he'd used in his dad's drugstore, during Depression days. Dad's hands were stiffened…
At the Pagoda of the Golden Tortoise
Under cover of darkness I arrived at “Tu Kim Quy”, the “Pagoda of the Golden Tortoise”. The night was gravid with frogs. Their strange calls announced our approach, and later in my room I drifted into sleep, listening to their curious amphibian talk. Sometime in this preternatural night rain woke…
Promises to Keep
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep/ But I have promises to keep/ and miles to go before I sleep/ and miles to go before I sleep. —Robert Frost (1875 – 1963) August 2004: A Hunter? I suppose that's one way of characterizing me, though I personally wouldn't class myself…
Terminal
Lucienne was on the ascending escalator when she noticed that Jason was no longer holding her hand. It was about midday and the terminal was a melee of jostling travelers. She craned her neck to look back past a largish couple behind her. Was that Jason a few stairs below?…
Kicking Up Red Clay
On the first day of the 1971-72 Myers Park Elementary School year, white faces and hands mashed against the glass of all the black-framed casement windows of the two-story, red brick building. I shoved my way through a clump of other sixth graders just in time to see its arrival—a…
The Border Crossing
I just left my life behind and am heading to the other side of it. The other side of it is called California, the land of iced organic defatted decaf soy mochas at every small town street corner, T-shirts any day of the year, taco stands in the desert, orange…
The Decision
“Where y' headin' for lunch, Nathan?” “Not sure, Rockstar. Got errands to run.” “You're gunna end up eatin' junk food.” “Yeah, more than likely.” “Headstone's gunna read, 'here lies a Snickers bar.' You know that, don't you?” “I do. And it'll sit right next to yours, which'll say, 'here lies…
Total Eclipse
When I was studying in England in 1958, I saw an advertisement for singers to audition for the Philharmonia Chorus. A distant cousin had told me she was in it, and without hearing me sing but knowing that in Bendigo I had done some “kawral” singing, she suggested I audition…
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Grace and the Angels Sing
I can't really remember much about Uncle Joe but my Mother remembers him well. I have heard the story many times. I feel as though I was there too. From her childhood she recalls Uncle Joe's farm with fond memories. The story begins with Mother and her cousins cuddling up…
My Experience on Iwo Jima
18 February 1945, the Pacific Ocean, D-1 I saw my first signs of battle this evening at 2300. Several battleships were firing at our destination, the island of Iwo Jima, which hadn't come into view yet. I stood for several hours watching flares go up while our Navy blasted the…
Paul Ponsiglione
California born, Paul Ponsiglione is currently attending Virginia Military Institute. Since he was young, Paul has had a passion for military history. This short story is inspired by the true story of his next-door neighbor, Earl Henley, who fought on Iwo Jima.
The Wedding Ring
The battle raged close and fierce that November day in 1944. In spite of the ear-splitting noise of gunfire, Ray Seward heard screams from wounded soldiers all around him. Ray, along with other American Army Infantrymen, had holed up in an old barn near Schmitz, Germany, in the midst of…
Through the Curtain
There is no sun. I can barely make out my surroundings, but I am not disappointed. I can barely make sense of the details of the broken oscillating fan. I tried to patch the head yesterday, directing air to my face, but it didn't mend. Alas, another sweaty night. A…
Transfiguration
When people ask why I write about small places and odd people, I'm never really quite sure how to respond. I can trace my earliest yearnings to the time I witnessed Miss Minnie Johnson laid out prostrate on the Trenton Courthouse lawn—that was thirty-five years ago. It wasn't so much…
One Small Mistake
Perhaps I should have left Peter and Peggy in a kennel when I drove Outside to help Uncle Ralph celebrate his 90th. But my heart wouldn't allow it. Betray their trust and leave them in a kennel? No. I made up my bed in the back of my station wagon,…
Endee
A bit of magic came hopping into our lives last summer. Black Magic. Furry Black Magic. I didn't know much about rabbits then, but I knew that she was special. She wasn't a wild rabbit, but whether she had escaped by choice or someone had just dumped her, she was…
Rosebush and Why He Chuckled
Rosebush was a born buccaneer, with wit, a Xhosa like Nelson Mandela, speaking its ringing tongue-clicks. He was tall, slim, beautifully built, with fine frank features. Rosebush knew violence, with scars across his left stomach and thighs. He would happily show them, silvery weals on smooth chocolate, acquired in his…
Reminders of Absalom
“Koreans are the new Goth. At school, everyone's asking me about Virginia Tech,” my daughter Mary said as she sat next to me on our stale orange couch and watched the evening news anchor speak over a close-up of Cho Seung Hui. The angelic Korean face responsible for the murderous…
The Great Brown of the Millrace Pool
Prologue The large pool was quiet, deep and dark. From above the pool, the color of the black water courted transformation; it lightened as it squeezed through the millrace sluice, tumbled brighter over the dam and turned milky as it crashed to engage the rocky bottom. Here it frothed to…
In the Realm of Mercy
Unsure of how Iranians will react to an American in their shrine, I tighten my fingers around the knobs of the drawer that holds my veil. After a short pause, I give the drawer a quick pull. It's my last Friday in Iran, the Muslim day of communal prayer, and…
For Tomorrow and More
No Ravi, I don't want to go to Vrindavan, no Ravi, I don't want to do a photo feature on the widows, and no Ravi, I don't want to get married to you. At least, not yet. But Ravi was surprisingly impatient and persistent. Why, I asked him, should we…
Pushing Patagonia
I glanced sleepily at my wristwatch. 6.15pm. We had been on the road for just over two hours. The journey to Rìo Gallegos would take at least four more hours on these coarse gravel roads. Yawning I stretched my legs across the unoccupied seat next to mine. Typical of so…
Magnolia
I was six when I learned some words can never be taken back. I had prodded my older retarded sister, Cassie, to say it—a word I didn't even know how to spell at the time. I would have spelled it with one “g”. It was near the end of the…
Labor of Love Day, 2005
On this extraordinarily bright day marking the end of summer, she watched Houston's buildings flash by as she was driven to the Astrodome from their home in the suburbs. It was one of those glorious clear blue-skied days touted by Texans. Days like today made the place and all things…
Island of my Heart
It was a strange and magical place, the island. Pine Island—such a deceptively simple, unassuming name. I often wondered later in life if it was named that by my Uncle Charles to deliberately discourage outsiders from exploring its well-shaded interior, or perhaps its name merely reflected my Aunt Frances' complete…
Coming Together in God’s Country
The little girls are gone, buried in the rich and fertile earth of Amish cemeteries. The shooter, too, is gone, his life ended by the same gun that took the little girls. He's buried next to the heart-shaped stone of his infant daughter. The tiny school has been bulldozed to…
“Hey White Guy!”
“You're tall man. You shoot that ball?” The guy asking me this is hanging out in front of a Baskin-Robbins in a strip mall in an African-American neighborhood in south-central L.A. I was nervous enough stopping in here, and I certainly wasn't counting on something like this. I just wanted…
Geoff Griffin
Geoff Griffin has worked as an attorney and journalist and now spends his time as a part-time writer while also working as a special education teacher at a Salt Lake City junior high school where the mostly Hispanic student body yells, “Hey Gringo!” at him.
Beyond Expectations
She stands with the rest of the family to greet anyone who happened to come see “the body”. Why they call it a body, she doesn't know. The woman lying in that casket in the satin lilac nightgown is still a person, dead or alive. Dead or alive, that girl…
A Regular Guy
“Do you want me to come in with you while you get your haircut?” “No,” replies my 19-year-old son Matthew. “I want him to think I drove here by myself.” When I suggest that he remove the junior sheriff sticker from his t-shirt before he goes in, he refuses. “I…
Collection
The old Rambler rattled alongside the curb, spitting putrid exhaust out its back end, announcing our arrival with a shake and a shudder. Daddy turned the key to off, eased the steering wheel tight to the right, and coasted the aging wagon to a stop. “Is this the place?” Mama…
Live Like a River
My life to date had been a clumsy, misguided affair with more loose ends and missed opportunities than I cared to think about. Prodded by my husband, I put on my old brown leather coat and drove down to the river. “For goodness' sake, Annie! Why don't you go down…
Abby Ingraham
A master of disguise, Abby Ingraham is currently hiding out from the paparazzi in a French suburb near Geneva, Switzerland. Her identity alternates between mother of two, freelance writer & editor, and marketing strategist for international NGOs. She is currently attending the Nouveau School of Zen Mastery, majoring in Spiritual…
A Standing Ovation for my Father
My mother was adamant that I arrive on time. I realized that tonight was important but she was overreacting. My father was going to retire. After teaching at this rural, backwater university for thirty-five years, he was going to retire. I was not sure how working there and being retired…
Letter to the Head of Faculty
It was cuts in funding, That prompted the idea, The lack of aircon too, And no one was hurt, I am glad to say, Thanks to emergency service rescue. 'Twas the dazzling, hot sun, Eight minutes away, Roasting us in office and lab, That caused the fire, On that hot…
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Untitled (“Your Image…”)
Your Image— Gangsters in the mall, When you eat those soft pretzels, You look less gangsta. Cobwebs— Cobwebs in my room, It's so rude of you to form, Someone's living here. False Advertising— False advertising, When you say there is chicken, I expect chicken! Sophisticated— If I could poo white,…
Billy Collins Interviewed on Stage at Chautauqua
Billy Collins says you can't have people in your poems. It can only be you and your reader. You think of all the people in your poems: your Aunt Evelyn, your sister, your friends Linda and Dick and Ross. John Porter. Your mother. Your mother. Billy Collins says your job…
No Matter What Position You’re In
From her couch, she is looking at me upside down as she sketches, her pink, bare feet are flapping in the air like two salmon fighting upstream. She wants to discuss what to do about her short-tempered boyfriend, the ox-like defensive end of the high school football team. I'm sitting…
The ASBO Kid
A modern retelling of “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes It was kinda windy and the trees were blowing about. It was dark because it was nightime, so the moon was out. The road was a bit untidy, full of wee and rubbish and grub. And the ASBO kid came riding,…
Gibberish from the Tenth Dimension
Rabbit guts will bring the flies I saw his back shiver like a cat with ringworm He was deaf as a dog in the middle of a war How glorious life is I tipped him over like a sleeping cow His eyes were hard and black like buttons Angry bunions…
Rules for Poetry
Never use adjectives unless you're trying to describe something and you don't want to do it the hard way Never use the word “forever” It reminds people theyíre going to die and the last thing you need is people distracted by their mortality during your poem Write what you know…
Calabration Hooligan
Organelle demonized as part of the face, to celebrate the flagellation of Elizabeth II in 1953. This pecking salad half-seen careering on huffing tables nationwide ever since. Serves great: Earth lemon 5 hounds licking 1 bunion, gartered 1 camel, garroted 1 bucket carny 8 sacked beeper-sores, hushed Guilt Moralized pigs,…
My Muse is at a Sci-Fi Convention in Reykjavik
The art of writing is a hectic adventure, One needs a Muse to get the creative juices oozing nicely, Like [insert simile here.] My Muse often sits with me while I'm writing, Or does a little belly dance. His name's Carl, and he's fucked off this weekend, So bear with…
Bagging It
When I buy bagged corn chips, a bag of potatoes, and a bag of cheddar cheese popcorn and take these bagged items to the cash register if I don't watch, the cashier will throw these bagged items into a bag and if I say there's no need to bag these…
I Miss You But There Is Such a Thing as Banana Gin
Like the blade of a wind-turbine slicing through a swan, I think of you While the rain outside my room sounds like all The dogs in the world have suddenly decided to clean their genitals At exactly the same time. Lying asleep They come to me in the night Cross-eyed…
Sex with my Ex
I may or may not have sex with my ex-boyfriend this weekend he's coming into town and I'm trying to tell myself I won't have sex with him because when we were together all those years ago the sex wasn't even good and we fought like inmates because he didn't…
Riding High
at the Museum of Coaches, Lisbon When Clemente Eleventh went to tea Or other Papal industry He didn't take the train or bus Like common ordinary us But sat in most uncommon state Resplendent in his coach-and-eight. Indeed, it's down in Holy Writ That Papa Clement scored a hit Each…
