When I answered the phone a non-descript male voice asked for mister Winter.  I said he was out and asked if the caller cared to leave a message.  The non-descript male voice gave a name and said he was calling from Factory Casket Wholesalers.  He understood a need had arisen in mister Winter’s household.  A need.  I assured him no need for a casket had arisen in mister Winter’s household.  But he was insistent.  I was about to dress down the caller (for what I considered to be an annoying persistence) when he gave my husband’s full name.  There aren’t many Archibald Peter Masterson Winters (only one that I know of) so I paused.

Read the rest of this entry »

we the implicated
we the intricated
we the strand and
bolt of fabric
woven tight like
mother’s love and
screaming child

Read the rest of this entry »

The cop motions me over to the curb in front of number twenty-two.  He’s a funny-looking creature in a Kevlar shell whose precise movements give the impression he’s still doing drills at the police academy.  He skitters to the car as I roll down the window.

Sorry sir but you have to turn back.

But this is my street.

There’s been an incident.

A TV news van rolls up and the cop smiles and waves it along.  I watch the bulging-eye logo brush past the cop, and looking further up the street I see that my yard has been cordoned off by yellow tape.

Wait a sec’. I open my door and step onto the pavement  That’s my house.  What’s going on?

Read the rest of this entry »