Needle and Thread

I might have chosen the needle and thread, thereby insuring myself a long if not necessarily happy life, or the bow and arrow, the significance of which seems obvious. My rich aunts had both grabbed rice cakes on their ceremonial turns around the table

Overpromised Heart

I promised my daughter my heart, forgetting it wasn’t mine. You were there, fat with her, already weary of the burden and beautiful, intolerably beautiful. You made demands: a hairbrush, a mirror, not that hairbrush, ice yes but not ice chips, a delivery date—

Full Body Massage

He will be more difficult to satisfy than a man who only thinks he is a bull. That is Sunny’s opinion and she’s an expert. I keep my opinion to myself. I’ve not been in this country long enough to speak. With my diary, though, I’m fearless, and in my dreams, I revel in inexcusable deeds.

Swallowing Light Bulbs

He wasn’t always the man who swallows light bulbs. He did at one time have an act. Like many others, it amounted to filling in blanks: an adjective noun of noun and adjective noun, it verbed across the noun when the noun was adverb, but when it fell, it fell like a load of bricks.

One of Shirley’s Stories

What happened to Shirley? Her brother was shot and she lived her life feeling shrapneled. I wish I could tell you her story. I’ll tell you what I know.

Future Perfect

It’s said too often, so often it can’t be true, that the drowning man sees his life flash before his eyes, but what is never said is whether he understands it any better for having seen it. That would be evidence.

The Question

His job in life, accomplished as a child with the asking of a single question, was to reconcile a mother with her daughter. Do you want to die angry at her? he had asked, oblivious to the consequences.

Sun Comes Sidewise

I am my own god and when on the eighth day I wake to survey the universe I have wrought and baited to snare the helpless unsuspecting and extract from them their thanks, I find it sprung by circumstance.

Decorum

All I wanted when he died was to scream. My family restrained me, taking me by the arms near the shoulders, and either slamming me to the wall of the trauma room or forcing my nose into the stink, as if I were responsible,

Things Get Moved

Which is the tool is the question never asked. For the coffee mug, the eyeglass case, the dozen indispensable items in the wire basket with the foldable handles, we are a conveyance to the top of the stairs.