Sometimes, not very often, but sometimes when the winds blow right, the summer heat is kind, and the rain trickles down just-so, a woman is born of a jacaranda tree. The indigenous inhabitants leave these women well alone. They know them to be foreign to the land for all that they spring from the great […]
The gun was still on the table when Caroline returned from her walk. She stopped short in the doorway. A gust of wind shoved at her back, whipped a spray of rain around her. She fumbled until she found the handle and pulled the door closed behind her. The gun was still on the table. […]
Frank felt the back of the caravan shift to the right and knew it was time to stop for a while. He rested his hand on the device sitting on the seat beside him, looking for vibration or for warmth, as he always did. If he felt nothing in the next twenty kilometres, he’d have […]
Plüschow’s libido diminished as he traveled into Switzerland and finally stepped foot onto German soil. He did not linger on the visage of any of the young men aboard the train cars or waste his imagination on a fleeting glimpse through the window working the fields or travelling the roads. They all wore far too […]
There were three Campbell sisters when Martine Crawley came through Hiram the first time. Martine Crawley with his white teeth and beautiful mouth that curved liquid and fluid over those foreign words the girls had never heard before. Words that lay on their tongues humid as the Georgia night. He always smiled when they tried […]
I wipe the drop of sweat from my eyebrow, shift my stool so I can watch the American family in the mirror behind the bar. Most of the tourists who wander here from the Dutch side of the island choose to sit on the patio. Most tourists chose another place entirely; the Belle Vue caters […]
Saki sits in an armless wooden chair in a half-empty coffee shop. Uneven, weathered slats press into her spine, press into the angles of her bones. She shifts. Cracks her neck. The table is small, built for one. She stretches her arms out, sliding her hands over its surface. Her nails hook in, damaging the […]
The first bird was made of glass. It stood waiting atop a scuffed dresser in the yard on Lancaster Street, and at once Kay hefted it in her hand. It felt good there, heavier than she’d expected. The owl’s wings were tucked away and its head gazed into some autumnal wisdom that she couldn’t see. […]
Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead. —William Blake, from “Proverbs of Hell” She’s washing the dishes after a simple breakfast of fried eggs and tomatoes, looking out the window towards the river winding low and shaded beneath the willow trees, when she sees a man coming up the road […]
Meredith holds the dead bird in both hands. Last week, it was a sparrow, small enough to nestle in the cup of one palm. This morning, it’s a wattlebird. She brushes the dirt from its feathers and smooths its wings to its sides. The lifeless head lolls against her fingers. There are two clear puncture […]
