Published in The Massachusetts Review.
He sat at the table, which was covered with a plastic-coated red and white checked tablecloth, and looked out the window. In his hand he held a lukewarm beer. Five empty bottles were lined up directly in front of him, five bottles on five checked squares.
In the harbor a flock of Bufflehead ducks, tiny pierrot clowns, wove themselves between the orange winter-sticks and dived.
Down towards the cove it was all iced-up, and the floes creaked in their miniature sea. It was a monochromatic kind of day, gray and bleached, at the end of February.
Published in The Drum: A Literary Magazine for Your Ears.
It began on a Monday. At first it was only a gentle steady shower. Being spring, people were not surprised. In the sky appeared a panoply of colorful and see-through spheres and crumpled newspapers in all shapes and sizes. Commuters swore, forecasters grinned, and life went on.
TIP OF THE TONGUE
Published in Alimentum.
It’s the way he says it. Cauliflower is chou-fleur, “cabbage flower”. For potato, pomme de terre, “apple of the earth”. For grapefruit, pamplemousse. He could not tell me the reason for pamplemousse. And then he laughed.