Larry cuts stone in a cloud of hummingbirds. It is hot. He is patient. The birds are hungry. They zoom around him like animate drones as the patio emerges from a tumble of rock. How does he do this? Patiently, with string and level. I am confounded by this skill, being an expert in the … Continue reading Cuts
by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
Rita and I are Mystery Sisters, buoyant on the porch, taking turns being Little Elk, make-believing we’re savvy. Our game, equal parts Saturday Westerns and Christmas outfits is fake six-shooters, leatherette belts, tight-tooled boots. We sweat under our almost-buckskin. We suffer our fake Stetsons. Rita and I are blood tight, ride Schwinn stallions. We reckon … Continue reading Mystery Sisters
by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
I was a kid when we hit Mile-High suburbs, carcasses of Winnebagos strung out behind us on the plains, the mile-long gas lines coming in view. Doubt ate me like flowers. I’d seen the scalded girl, the jungle on fire. I asked, what is there to fight for? What explains this warfare? Shush, said Aunt … Continue reading Denver
by Wendy Taylor Carlisle
