She squished together the crusts of her toasted sandwich in such a way as to make its peanut butter innards spill out of two sides, and when they did, followed it with her tongue, down one long edge of the bread, around the corner, and up another, transforming it from a gooey bead into a … Continue reading Morning Miniature 3.12.19
Morning Miniatures
Morning Miniature 3.9.19
If ever there were a picture of walking death, it was Celeste: at a hair’s breadth under five feet, her frame was so emaciated you could just make out the shape of the long bones beneath her baggy denims. The rest of her was hidden under a hooded sweatshirt many times too big, precisely how … Continue reading Morning Miniature 3.9.19
Morning Miniature 3.7.19
The incandescent bulb in the little wall sconce by the bed cast such a warm and pleasing light on the open pages of the book she held. She scrutinized the vintage typeface; without lenses in her eyes, she could examine every curvilinear shape, the swirl of each serif. So clear was the close-up vision in … Continue reading Morning Miniature 3.7.19
Morning Miniature 3.2.19
Most mornings Mme Saukhalova threw open the front door of her tiny pied-à-terre and took a single step backward, her head recoiling dramatically as if by whiplash, and then alluringly crossed its threshold onto the landing, glancing furtively left and right to see who might have noticed. Down, down, down each step she gingerly reached … Continue reading Morning Miniature 3.2.19
Morning Miniature 2.28.19
The last time he stepped through the front door of this house there was no pain in his knees and hips at all, but now he could feel the very landscape inside his joints as he stooped down to peer through a front window, cupping his hands around his eyes to block the sunlight. Gettin’ … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.28.19
Morning Miniature 2.25.19
This would have been a perfect January morning, in any other January but this one, with the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window and falling on her hands at work under the tap. Every day they looked more and more like her grandmother’s hands, she mused—when had that change started to come? So much change. … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.25.19
Morning Miniature 2.25.19
The civil defense sirens had not sounded, not yet, but the power had been out already for several hours. She’d lit the votive candle in the little holder on the nightstand just as soon as the lights flickered; in the distance she heard the unmistakable sound of an exploding transformer—that’s how her father explained it. … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.25.19
Morning Miniature 2.23.19
One could survey the serpentine bend in the river from way up there, and try to guess how its fluvial contours might have changed through millennia, like a curvy seductress rolling over in her smooth satin sheets. People in grand houses perched high on the bluff could sip coffee and nibble on toast with the … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.23.19
Morning Miniature 2.22.19
“Oh Bran, please take me with you,” she implored. She was sitting backward on the little forlorn wood chair with the round seat, her favorite one, because it fit her just right. Leaning against its caned back with her arms wrapped around it, she was just within reach of Bran’s gauzy caftan, which she now … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.22.19
Morning Miniature 2.21.19
You listened to Neil Diamond crooning hot August night, and the leaves hanging down, and the grass on the ground smelling sweet, and wondered, did he know about hot August nights in Memphis? Did Neil Diamond know about the heat that still radiated up from the ground long after sunset, in the darkness, with dew … Continue reading Morning Miniature 2.21.19
Sycamore Stories 