When you press them down, you hear their angry little squeals.
Author: Lorna Dickson Keach
All her Killers
They poked each other with their blades, spread their blood on the windows.
Crawling In, Crawling Out
When she charmed worms out of the ground, she did so alone, with her wood rattler: a long stick carved with teeth, jammed deep into the earth, scraped so it sang like skeletons clattering.
Watch for Falling Body Parts
After we signed, the realtor handed us a list of chimney sweeps and a pamphlet on fireplace safety, said “Watch for falling body parts,” then turned over the keys.
We’re Being Eaten
J– is studying at the kitchen table, pencil scribbling, lamp-lit, while the things slide in from the back yard. They slide out from holes we never noticed…… Read more “We’re Being Eaten”
The Pieces she Kept
She plucked the shards out one by one and stashed them in a box under her bedroom floor.
It Only Played Piano
It didn’t even weep ceaselessly. The ghost didn’t throw knives or stomp or bang on the walls. No one’s toes were nibbled.
We Got on the Wrong Bus
A skeletal hand was left on the seat Charise wanted. When she poked it, it scrambled under her feet.
Come be an alligator
Grasp our babies /gently, between
massive jaws / teach them / to chomp minnows / and toes
I might be a dungeon
Peering inside, I saw
what might have been gray cobblestones,
rough-hewn stairs, old pitch torches
We Bought a Box of Organs
It sat on the front door stoop: one large, seeping box, addressed to both of us, and we did not remember buying such a thing. When we…… Read more “We Bought a Box of Organs”
A Letter from Your Love Interest (who is not an Embalmer)
When you leave I’ll preserve you (your memory, I mean). I’ll tuck my dreams of you away in a bed of Egyptian sand for centuries and centuries,…… Read more “A Letter from Your Love Interest (who is not an Embalmer)”
