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Weekly Contest #339
The flight attendant smiles like this isn’t another funeral. I smile back because I know my part. We shuffle forward with neck pillows and duty-free bags, a procession pretending to be a vacation. Someone ahead of me jams a swollen carry-on into the overhead bin, shoving hard, like grief can be forced to fit if you push long enough. The latch snaps shut. We move on. I take my usual seat by the window. The seat belt frays where it crosses my lap, threads loosening as if it’s tired of holding anything together. I lower the shade halfway. I wan...
Weekly Contest #334
Psalm IThis is what forty-three sounds like when it cannot sleep.A refrigerator that revs like it's late for something important.A neighbor downstairs, crooning vintage heartache at full volume.Time stalled at 10:08, stubborn as ever.I lie on the floor because it's closer to the truth.Or because it's easier than admitting there's no room for a bed.I say nothing. I let the silence keep its own counsel.I listen and begin marking the hours in lines, the way the shipwrecked tally days on cave walls. Psalm IITonight, I press my head to the cold h...
Weekly Contest #331
Snow is falling hard enough to blur the parking lot. Big lazy flakes cling to the wipers and turn the world still until the plows ruin it. I stand under the neon Laundry Express sign a second longer than I need to, letting the cold find the gap at my collar and settle in like it’s claiming squatter’s rights. Nights like this make me feel younger and older at the same time: reckless enough to be out, tired enough to want bed by nine. I’m forty-nine. It’s half past eight. My fingertips are already going white. Six years without a washer means ...
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