“What’s purple and hums?”

“No idea,” I said.

When the lights came on again, Dad was smiling, his damp cheeks glistening in the blooming light. “An electric grape.”

Family Fortunes

Strange Fish

Her finger in my belly button, mine in hers. Only when she turned from me, in the bed we often shared—her tanned shoulder rising and falling with her sleeping breath—would I roll our fluff between my palms and whisper, ‘I love you.’ 

Fluff

Today’s a big day. Before you leave the house, I wipe a crumb lodged in the corner of your mouth and pull the knot on your tie just below that mole under your chin. It’s your cue to utter two words whispered every morning before we part, “For them”.

For Them

“You’re just like your father. He was like you when he was eleven—so your nanna says—forever making things up.” You smile and feel cozy and warm. Then brittle. Fragile as glass. 

Body of Boy Found on Beach

“Today’s a good day.” Stephen Andrews points at a full head of hair above his wan face. He tells me it’s a wig then stops and holds his index finger up like that guy in the painting of Jesus having supper. “You can still smell Karen Hazard on that.”

Stephen Andrews

The creature opened its mouth and let out a strangled Baa, turned, and trotted forward until it stood over my body. Then it shoved its nose into my face, more like a truffling pig than a sheep, clearly not a dog.

Paul Attmere

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