We stood on the back porch drinking homemade lemonade from mason jars and listening to the cicadas out in the fields. The sky was still as pink as it used to be on nights like these. You checked the watch I had re-strapped for your last birthday. “Eighteen hours now.” “She’ll be alright.” “You can’t … More The Place of Nativity
Dad brought home a replacement mother. Corrine was sweet, generous, unwanted. Scrawny too – owned a drained face and an abacus ribcage. Good cook, though – fussed over me with casseroles and lush desserts. I ate, hunched over the table, shooting out glare-stares. One night when Dad was working, Corrine spent ages gazing at a … More What Humble Pie Really Tastes Like
“Where’s Mum?” I ask Dad. “She’s gone,” he says, slamming pots onto the draining board, water sloshing over the sides of the bowl. “Gone where?” “Just gone; disappeared, vanished, evaporated. She isn’t here anymore.” He flings up his hands, scattering rainbow bubbles onto the lino. “Evaporated?” “Yes, like the milk.” “The milk?” “Yes, the milk. … More The Residual Mother
He sat in his living room, watching on TV as the President lay a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The memory returned. He was a child in the woods cupping stream water into his hands after bloodying his fingers eating berries. Dirt caked his clothes and hair. When the soldier approached, he … More The Unknown Soldier
Laura’s father taught her to play chess when she was five. His immediate family had somehow survived the camps. So had their love of chess. Still, he never fully recovered from the war. He could be loving or enraged, joyous or lost in desperate despair. Laura was a good girl; she did everything she could … More Learning Chess
The Russians just left Bucha. In a cellar there are five bodies. We leave the black plastic bags outside and go in, carrying a stretcher. The bodies lie next to each other, legs unnaturally bent, hands tied behind. We lay the first body on the stretcher, go back out, put down the stretcher and place … More Cutting Ties
I was a rubble-cleaner at Dessauer Ufer who escaped when they transferred us to Wedel. Figuring I could do no worse, I jumped into the Elbe. Years after I swam ashore, wandered for days, and hid with a family in Lübeck till 1945, I became a Hamburg tour guide. I show the spire of the … More The Tour
In September 1944, Marius’s résistant comrades were pushing for summary executions of collaborateurs while there was still time. “We don’t know if Maurice is the one who killed Gabriel,” said Marius, flatly. “Noel saw Maurice tail Gabriel!” exclaimed Antoine. “Two days later, Gabriel had two bullets through his forehead. What more proof do you need?” … More The End of Hatred
Wood takes a year to season. A lot can happen in a year. Mama might marry kind Mr. Forsyth and then we’ll live in his town. I’ll miss my friends and school. On the upside, I’ll attend a church that ain’t so fervent on hellfire talk. The two detectives came by yesterday, again. They inspected … More Kin/d/ling
Candy runs ahead, hissing back, “Hurry, Girl!” Candy clutches her corduroy backpack, bouncing with store goodies, to her chest. “Presents!” Candy exits Walmart with that full shoplifter bag, her legs buckling —her Xanax kicking in. Outside in the warm air, the security cop grabs her wrist. Security leans his bald head—like naked Dad leaning over … More Big Bag
The Centifictionist 
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