I suppose it was inevitable. What with two boys, two dogs and one house where the dirt swirls in with a strong wind, it’s destined to have happened at some point. But such a violent death seemed even beyond even the clumsy hands of my 6-year-old, Ian. How could he possibly be the one to murder the greatest superhero ever? The evidence is clear: Superman was last seen in the vicinity of the stairs, head intact. I placed him there, though I admit it, it was a hard toss rather than a soft landin...

Excercise the ego, four times daily.

If she had to rate her marriage on a scale of 1 to 10, she would give it a 5. Right in the middle, exacting, balanced, but passionless. Curiously enough, if her husband were to rate it, he’d too give it a 5, but for him mediocrity meant stability and a long haul with few peaks and valleys. Just what he loved in life. But for Michelle, she was tired of the same thing all of the time and she often looked at her husband—a man she once admired and greatly loved—with something like disgust. How c...

Bundled against the bite of February you shuffle blood red roses as your adult daughter watches, struggles to keep her scarf from snapping in the bitter wind. Her hair whips across her face as you tuck green stems into the cold cement vase built into her daddy’s head stone. You and she stiffly embrace then move slowly away.

Clean blue broad, pearlesque set behind the shuddering leaves fading green into Fall and light. Sun leaks through misty grain, veins spidering out like hands grasping the last rays.

Kate and I led the horses away from the paddock across the street, and the three left behind-- a black, a chestnut and a bay-- whinnied and stamped feet. Mine, a large black mare with wide brown eyes gleamed fear and called back to the others. they replied with high pitched voices, running the length of the fence to better watch what we would do. Kate's followed obediently, snorting at the sounds the others made. We saddled them as they shifted. I had to pull mine hard-- tug, tug-- against th...

In the summer Tina and I would sit, pressing skinny thighs into aluminum bleachers and watch the private school boys play baseball. The dust would rise off the field in a harsh breeze. Batters would kick, digging their left toes into the dirt and we'd watch as they shifted their tanned bodies, tensed for the pitch. Tina and I would pretend we were good enough for these boys. "I take Thomas," I'd whisper. I always took Thomas, he'd lived a quarter of a mile from me a year before. Back then he ...