by Lou Beach | Nov 14, 2013
Mother packed the box with food for Father’s lunch. The box was very old. There were birds painted on its cover but over the years the paint had been rubbed away, so the birds were almost transparent. I thought that was what ghosts of birds must be like–smudges...
by Lou Beach | Jan 23, 2013
I CONSIDER YOU as I lay bleeding. The bullet passed through my chest beneath the collar bone, clean, but must have nicked something on the way because a little crook of bone is jutting out the exit wound and I can’t help myself from touching it with the tip of...
