Dusty Trophies [minutelovestory 117]

Posted on Jul 28, 2015 in minutelovestories | No Comments

With knees like macaroni, she couldn’t quite lift her feet. White sneakers hip width apart, she swung her arms from her sides, outstretched and above her head, wriggling her hands as if she were signaling a searching helicopter, as if she were trapped among apocalyptic boom rubble, her zigzagged body coated with the silt of […]

Draper’s Dead Body [minutelovestory #115]

Posted on Nov 18, 2014 in minutelovestories | No Comments

Lately he’s taken to carrying paperbacks with us on errands. The other afternoon in front of the swap shop, he pulled a copy of Stephen King’s “Bag of Bones” out from underneath his seat and folded it back onto itself, the spine having acquiesced some time ago. It’s been hot this week, so he puts […]

Bereavement [minutelovestory #80]

Posted on Nov 17, 2014 in minutelovestories | No Comments

I’m in mourning. I’m in the midst of bereavement. That’s it. My walk to work used to be five hundred twenty-four feet from door-to-door. I knew the city, its walkups and its trees, its graffiti, some of it partly obliterated by the city’s attempts to sanitize its streets. I knew the homeless slumped on its […]

Penned [minutelovestory #28]

Posted on Nov 16, 2014 in minutelovestories | No Comments

Young parents surrounded the pen of the petting zoo. A few mothers jiggled a fussy toddler on a hip. Most idly sipped coffee from paper cups, promptly deposited in the correct color- coded bin once emptied. Pairs of women’s legs in varying proportions, most encased in black spandex, exposed well-built muscles earned from the individualized […]

Vow [minutelovestory #96]

Posted on Sep 17, 2013 in minutelovestories | No Comments

Nothing but you. You are my heart. You are my rock. My reason. My breath. You are my broken down furnace. You are my empty bottle of white whiskey. You are my water-damaged book of braille. You are my first thought. My last memory. My stumbling devotion. You are my mooring. My safe place. My […]

Split-Level Stories (for Jeremy Miranda) [minutelovestory #111]

Posted on May 28, 2013 in minutelovestories | No Comments

I asked him to stoke the woodstove in the freshwater pond. He said the creak of its iron door reminded him of something like a narwhal’s strident voice. It was 3 a.m. and the ink and glue, showing us how we live and die, dropped off into the sea, where unsteady rocks gang up and […]

Surprise [minutelovestory #54]

Posted on Apr 19, 2013 in minutelovestories | No Comments

You so provocatively texted me “I have a surprise for you”, that my thoughts ran from the salacious to the sweet. I imagined naked photos of you, a tripod arranged in your bedroom, dim lighting, but that didn’t seem like something you would do. You could be, however, surprising. And so I thought you’d bought […]

Slainte [minutelovestory #66]

Posted on Apr 19, 2013 in minutelovestories | No Comments

Gathered around the table, its two wide leaves included, producing an expansive dining arrangement, ten high-backed chairs are drawn up and the linen tablecloth once belonging to my grandmother, patterned with grapes and pineapples, drapes onto the laps of my dinner guests. Counterclockwise, we have Denny, an overweight reformed cocaine and sex addict whose wife, […]

Signpost [minutelovestory #58]

Posted on Apr 18, 2013 in minutelovestories | No Comments

“They flew like a saucer would if you skipped it across the water.” Kenneth Arnold had witnessed something blinding in the sky while searching for survivors of a C-46 Marine Transport crash in the Cascade Mountains. A peripheral distraction he couldn’t explain. Little green men were spotted in France. It had grown global! Kenneth determined […]

Epaulets [minutelovestory #37]

Posted on Apr 18, 2013 in minutelovestories | No Comments

From the kitchen, she’d heard water running. In minutes, she’d found Luis naked, seated on the edge of the tub, flaccid penis and balls pressed up against its unsympathetic coldness, shrinking from it even while huddling up against it as some sort of porcelain ballast. In her fleece robe, barefoot, Bonnie had asked him what […]