fiction

    I sit down and drift back to my Italy — the Italy where I grew up; specifically, the aroma from the kitchen. The voices begin to call me back.

Let’s get red wine, forget about the rest, except be kind to strangers lest they be angels in disguise. Oh holy bookstore I slept in a rug on your floor in December 1996, beer and poems for inspiration. Paris scared me shitless. I had a...

    Animals talk at midnight, midnight on Christmas Eve. Or so I was told by Reverend Flanders of the First Presbyterian Church. It was one of the things he said that I truly believed.     But I refused to believe...

    “I see a traffic light and I break out in hives. They’re always changing. You never know what’s going to come next. One second they’re green. Then who knows what.” Roy nodded. A nod that said he had...

      Brian McKenna slowly counted a dozen roses in the crystal vase atop the now empty office desk. Their crimson color gave him a sense of comfort, like a red beacon marking a return to a sheltered harbor.   ...

We were startled by raccoons making a racket in the middle of the night in the kitchen eating Marmite and cat kibble Luden’s cough drops too (did they have the sniffles?) We scared the raccoons with tennis rackets in the middle of...

1989     Wild turkeys, dull brown and nondescript except for their bizarre prehistoric configuration, strange bulk, unexpected arrival, walk presumptuously up the long driveway toward the house. The sun is trying its best to warm the...

    The words came out of my mouth exactly the way my older and only brother, Jim, had enthusiastically demonstrated.     “Shut it, fat boy!” I firmly said.

    “If we miss the boat, goddammit, it’s your fault,” warned Dad as he floored the pedal of his prized ’55 Buick convertible to 70 in the slow zone known as a speed trap. It was the final stretch of the race...