Cords

It’s six and September so the sky is gilded at the edges in small leaves and slivers on the water when the boat moves off the dock. I have a book of poems in my palm and a man runs a polisher over the coffee-colored floor in gentle whirs along the window seats. Tonight the … More Cords

Hot Dogs

“How long have the hot dogs been in there?” asks a man with a faded black backpack and four-day scruff on his face. The ferry has just shoved off and the sun has hit the place in the sky that puts a flat gold patina on the water, the color of candlesticks in an attic. … More Hot Dogs

Small Birds

In the dim, rumbling bus the boy peers tiredly from beneath a wing of yellow hair. His eyes are as soft as they will ever be. The boy cranes his neck for a girl who is balanced under damp fir boughs along the highway. Her spine is as straight as it will ever be. The … More Small Birds