--I DREW A MAP OF MARITIUS WITH YOUR NAME SKETCHED ON IT
…Hey Hot Stuff, Happy Friday.There’s an online magazine called Nailpolish Stories. They only publish stories that are exactly 25 words long (excluding the title) and whose title is a nail polish color, of which there are thousands.
Here are ten I had published a while back:
Her wrist corsage scratched, Pop Rocks exploding against her hot breath. She said, “You kiss like a spaghetti monster,” but made me a man anyway.
We swam naked in black water. The moon bent something inside me. She went under, never came up. Now I walk the sand nightly, waiting.
I used to study them-- bright bruises the color of mustard and plums, shaped like continents or crafty creatures—mother’s artwork on a flesh canvas.
Room With a View
On the ship’s deck we disrobed. Dolphins dove below us. Voyeur clouds and a lone gull were our only witnesses, the baby blooming inside you.
Like a too-fat ballerina in your bouncy seat, you claimed the air, gurgling, just twelve months old, already the giddy thief who stole my heart.
Walk Down the Aisle
Friends suggested getting high, thick socks for cold feet. “Check the exit,” they said. “we’ll be waiting.”
But you were the best thing.Still are.
She was heavy, but mine, clinging to me like a life raft while little Michael sang “Ben,” my first kiss a cave I fell through.
The strap was leather, long, dyed black, with tooled scrolls of cactus and bulls. The buckle hurt the most. My father, he could really swing.
Spider web hair, false teeth and a cigarette stitched in her hand even with an oxygen tank. Thiswoman who made me less than whole.
The baby looks preposterous, huge watermelon head, shrimp-sized torso. All my crimes come to roost, me thinking, Sins of the father, the doctor saying, “Sorry.”