Ironing

Why don’t you write about men? he asked. What do you mean? I asked. You say you write about women, but I wonder why you don’t write about men? he asked. You don’t think I write about men? I asked. Your writing is all about women, right? he asked. No, my writing is all about…

Lynne: Part I

I noticed the materials in the back of her car first. Vacuum, mops, buckets, several brooms. Used cleaning supplies in a trunk always catch my eye. Then I saw the fingernails. 3-inch fake nails—maroon with a sheen–attached to white fat old digits, twisted around the steering wheel. Like bejeweled catcher’s mitts. Scan up the arm…

My Bad

I remember the feel of my grandfather’s dresser under my hands as I felt the beginning. Black cardigan sweater. Blue shirt, elastic waist black Kmart pants. Two days later they would be bagged up and handed to me much like forensic evidence of what had gone down. What had been killed. Blood soaked underwear, puke…

Baked Betty

Company picnic coming in 2 weeks and she signed up to bring decorations and her traditional Baked Apple Betty. Last year she was too sick to go. Her co-workers still made her feel guilty about missing it. Not because they missed her, they just wanted the Baked Apple Betty. How easily traditions become repressive. She…