by Michele Parker Randall | Mar 25, 2022
My thumbnail pressesinto tangerine top,oily mist spray arcs over my hand,fragrant and sharp.One pull and threads of pith and peelsurrender, revealingsegments and skin. Would that everythingopen this easily.My son grows more quiet as each month goesby and I want—like...
by Michele Parker Randall | May 22, 2017
She prefers the psych ward. Her blue nurse-gloves check restraints, flit like the furtive wingflaps of a kingfisher, her brown skin hidden by light-refracting feathers. By their own nature, fitted sheets remain on the bed, held fast and taut. The patients make...
