Clichés

Griselda disappeared a couple of months ago. Before setting off for subconscious terrain, she left a long letter on my desktop, beside a file of the novella I was writing, accusing me of suffering from a “Plague of clichés.” I didn’t scoff, as I might have if anyone else had said it. Her list of … More Clichés

Change

Our sparrows did not return this year. Their little brown house is empty and still. Only the wind shakes it now. Last year at this time they were busy caring for their young. She, flying off to find food, and he, standing guard outside, darting off when she returned. I wonder about them, the generations … More Change

Doors

Before the hare, before the hole,before the twisted dream,there was the door, its frame petite,its contents undisclosed. Was she deceived?Did she believe the world beyondwould match its portal’s size? Or was it hopethat made her drink,despite the waistcoat, watch,and steep descent?A rabbit’s warning cry? Too late, I fear, too late. How soon until we wake? … More Doors