The office of Mr. Peter Jameson, manager of the country club, reeks of authority. Dark wood walls. Marble-top desk. Hovering indoor tree, most likely fake. Mr. Jameson speaks to us with a hint of apology, referring to Zander’s confusion about what is and isn’t allowed.

Rayan hasn’t slept. Last night, as he scraped wiry hairs from his chin with a straight razor before his chipped and frameless bathroom mirror, two chimes rang through his apartment: the first from his microwave, announcing his dinner of pre-buttered popcorn, and the second from his laptop, waiting open on the standing desk that doubles as his kitchen table.

We filed out of the cab at 7 p.m. sharp, cradling lukewarm bottles of Sauvignon Blanc, store-bought eclairs transferred to porcelain platters, cold cuts smothered in cling film.

I was finishing up a late-night pee when I heard the tinkle of glass smashing downstairs. Then, the patio door, sliding open with its customary squeal. I rushed back to the bedroom and shook Sean, the snore catching in his throat.

Beatriz fastens off the last stitch of her blue-and-red crochet blanket, then carefully spreads it on top of her bed. This is her second winter in New York, and she’s slowly getting used to the rhythm of a new city and a new country.

My mother didn’t have any brothers or sisters. I think that was part of the problem, why she didn’t know what to do with three children so close together. She’d never been a sibling, so she didn’t know how to handle it.

Six feet inside the Glenn Street police station, Janice Newland jumped as a burst of red light blossomed in the air above her. A half-dozen pairs of red lips manifested, speaking in synch, which reminded her of the opening of Rocky Horror. “Welcome, exalted volunteer!”

“The youngest kids’ swimming lessons always take place during the hottest part of the day,” Jess says while rubbing sunscreen on Chloe. She’s working on that little girl’s legs as if she’s the only thing standing between her and an early death. Oh, no one does sunscreen like ol’ Jess.

To the Man Who Gave Me the Tattoo Behind My Right Ear,

Afterwards, you stood on the gray sidewalk, gray smoke wafting from your cigarette into the gray sky. Wind-born trash skittered across the street.

When the half-pint bottles of Fireball in your brother’s freezer appear

a good alternative to dealing with the emotional turmoil caused from being in the presence of your immediate and extended family for over five hours, 

you waited alone for three hours for a tow truck, sitting at a corner booth, as vapor snaked from the hood of your white Ford Fiesta, Why Won’t You Date Me still queued up on your iPhone 6, Chicken Crunchwrap Supreme wrapper crumpled on the passenger seat

Interview with E.G. Condé

The subject of my husband remarrying after I die comes up a lot. In fact, we talked about it again the other night while binge-watching one of our favorite shows. The series is a loop of killings and drug deals. However, the part that intrigues me the most is the relationship between the husband and wife. Well, that and the wife’s boobs. 

ERNIE

I don’t have memories.

ANNALISE

What does that mean?

MOTHER is sitting in a chair, with a blanket wrapped around the lower half of her body,  watching television. Sounds are of war: shouting, screaming, gun shots, etc. but no news  commentary.  If there are words audible, they are not in English or in a clearly identifiable  language and are muffled, distorted.

HENRY is sitting at a lovely table for two. ANNA lights a candle and serves them both, then sits also.

ANNA: I made your favorite.

HENRY: You didn’t.

Wishing to be whittled
into boyhood, I cross
arms over chest. Flatten
men on stomachs. Resisting

There’s more than one way to gut
a whale. There’re more than two gulfs
skimming the innards. In a gulp of sea 

For one night we are stars
who have found their constellation;

for a few hours we are mascara
and glitter, sequins and lipstick;

Once you served me stale tea in cracked ceramic
and I sat there posing with the mug
as liquid leaked down my arm, both of us
pretending the water was warm.