The Comfort of Strangers
It was me who dropped the box of Band-Aids into the toilet. None of us wanted to admit it, but Ben and Jimmy had had nothing to confess.
It was me who dropped the box of Band-Aids into the toilet. None of us wanted to admit it, but Ben and Jimmy had had nothing to confess.
Outside, the hot August sun branded everything in its path, seeking out every cleft and angle. But not here. Room 263 of the Samaritan Home was…
Ex-husband with new woman; This one counts. Words of admiration Roll off his well-kissed lips. He gushes her accomplishments. We’ve been here before.
When we made love, I thought of nothing but the parakeets. They were four floors below in Samantha’s study. I feared they were starving.
A wise old art dealer in Amsterdam liked to tell a particular story, over appelflappen and coffee, of when he was not so old and not so wise.
Carol Smallwood offers a captivating preface to this 2018 collection, her tenth published since 2014. “It’s the whispered that has the most impact,” she declares.
Writer works to get under skin, doc rushes through gore he bathes within… Shrieking from someone else’s…
Big mama said she’s plum gone there’s no more chunky, copper moon walking over her head she reserves the right to wear white…
I am sitting on an exercise bike, slowly moving my feet, circling, circling, pushing just enough to barely move the pedals. It is exhausting.