by Alison Prine | May 2, 2016
People see my scar and say You’re lucky. But when I wake I listen to make sure she’s breathing. And in the clearest morning sky the tiny silver plane appears to be falling. Many things burn to the ground. In a frenzy of pedestrians a woman sits with an...
by Alison Prine | Feb 17, 2016
In the woods behind the house I built a tiny city from sticks and rolled matchbox cars down moss-lined streets where everyone in every building kept my secret. I collected candles of all shapes. Arranged and rearranged them in my bedroom, but I wouldn’t let them...
by Alison Prine | Nov 11, 2013
What did I want from her? I already know one half of life is to build, the other half for wind to dismantle. I know a person’s gait conveys the number of stones in their heart. I know history is being swallowed in the din of the television as the screens grow larger...
