Dida does not know deathhas planted her spine in an egg carton that someone willforget on a windowsill until winter, where nothing butgrief grows. She does not know she is dying, or knows but doesnot show she knows. By the time she rushes over the slick endof a wave as a small shoal of ash, […]
Grief does not wait for Death, by Karan Kapoor Keep Reading »
A Fantastic Voyage Adam wants to know about “phases of decomp, assuming [a] cool/cold outdoor setting.” I love a good voyage of discovery through the stages of decomposition. So much so, in fact, that some of my co-workers have dubbed me Ms. Frizzle. (Okay, it’s really because of the hair.) Sadly, this particular question is
Ask a Necromancer, by Amanda Downum Keep Reading »
It is Sunday afternoon, and Silvia is watching her husband from the corner of her eye while she tries to read a book in the lone armchair where he never sits. Her husband is standing at the door to the balcony, looking out at the city below with a frown on his face. She watches
The Watchers in the Stairwell, by Emily Henry Burnham Keep Reading »
My grandpa’s antique shelf clock sits on my mother’s fireplace mantel. It unnerved me as a child—the glass of its face reflects a golden patina of age that’s slightly oily, perhaps from the smoke of a kerosene lamp. Its hands are filigreed, black. They read seven thirty-nine, always, on spindly and severe Roman numerals. Ante
Burning Sassafras, by Cassie E. Brown Keep Reading »
Shave your head every third sunset, and the eyebrows, as is proper; sharpen your beak every sixth; if its straps bite into your skin, well, remember it is an honor to keep the silence; your lobes will need piercing; the black robes are to be worn always; on ceremony days—the leather cloak; drape your back
Death Work, by K.S. Walker Keep Reading »
Summer has comein waves of pollenand exhaust heart-cut rhinestonesin the eyesof velvet fawnshidden in the shadeof wood geraniumand mandrake snapping turtlewith her razor beakbroodingin the sandbox behind the houseyour father built. I remember her children emerging, palm-sized and ancientfrom torn leather shells and nests of garter snakes by the woodpileerupting into grassthat grazed our skinned
I’m Gonna be a Country Girl Again, by Kelly Rose Pflug-Back Keep Reading »