A Feast of Angels by A. Leigh Jones
Noam's branches arched as the moon rose and the stars painted the sky, his roots tangled beneath us, the language of lost leaves alive with promise. Noam, with his sweet caramel skin and berry-bruised lips; big city dreams falling like whispered words warm in my hair, and his hands, softer than magic, slipping inside me, rocking me to sleep...Grace Notes by Lydia Fazio Theys
You can forgive only so many times before you reach the last time. My bags sit, packed and forlorn, by the door. The house is quiet, that hollow-empty quiet that makes ceilings feel too high and each over-loud tick of the clock seem drawn-out, almost reluctant. He'll be shocked when he comes home, but there's nothing I can do about that...lift by Elizabeth Scott
His father has been dead for two months, so Ike is surprised to see him on the train.Ike looks down at his newspaper. He reads about taxes and new roads. When he looks up his father is still there. He's looking out the window, staring up the sky...
Britpopping by Kay Sexton
Jason wasn't Britpopping this weekend. He'd met some rich woman; a dentist, and he was helping her spend her money. So Dazzer and Vanilla and I grabbed the kitty and took a coach to Brighton — cheap as chips...Into the Woodpile by Howard Emanuel
We'd spent that late-70's summer like all the other 7 year-olds in my small southwestern Pennsylvania town: as executioners to ants and curl bugs living beneath backyard rocks; as apple tree astronauts surveying the Blue Ridge Mountains for invading Russians; or at the pool. When we weren't killing insects with our magnifying glass death ray or defending Western Pennsylvania land interests from Reds, we hid in my family's lilac bush, eavesdropping on the world of my father and His Men...James's Leaving by Rachelle Bergstein
He's sitting on the edge of my bed, the one I now share with Calvin. One hand is folded over his lap, the other tugging his freshly grown beard. He's driving West again, he says, the way heroes say in old movies when they have to get away. That's ok, I think, leave me to New York and these quiescent rooms...Storms by Michael Howarth
Anna meets me at the beach only during a thunderstorm. The parking lot is empty, puddled with dirty water; columns of sand snake across the asphalt, dodging scraps of garbage that swirl through the air like drowsy tornadoes...Ham by John Bowker
It is one of the secrets of the performer's art, the first few seconds of darkness as you take the stage. The glare of the lights, the stinging haze of smoke, the primordial horror of walking into the naked stare of an unknown crowd. One single instant in which you absolutely have to connect with the audience, and everyone does it blind...