Fiction

All day she listened, stepped out into the yard to listen, and didn’t hear birds singing or insects buzzing. Heard only a little wind, perhaps, or the drumming of a neighbor who practices every day—who has practiced every day for months—never to arrive at any confidence or skill.

Heaven

Is there a heaven? No. There are, instead, many heavens, each of them populated exclusively by people from your state or province or canton or . . .

His muh was barely a week in the ground when his phone rang with Verna on the line.

While I work in my studio, my landlord performs her annual walk-through of my apartment and texts her concern: it’s pretty griefy in there.

The astronaut has been home from space for two months. She checks the calendar from time to time, running a finger backward over the days. . .