Review by Donna Vorreyer “the heart would rather be left alone in its cavity, just the heart and its pericardium, alone, multilayered…” In The
Summer’s last hope on the edge of the window screen: the roach who flits his wings and tries, higher, then lower, to get through.
Cassie was serving only four tables. On other nights there would be seven or maybe nine full of people and hotdishes and slices of
Your ass in that chair, there on the patio in the dark of a Wednesday, bark of the bougainvillea eaten silent by loopers, neighbor