Tire-Tete
Jul 8th, 2010 | By William Crawford | Category: Short StoriesIt’s been raining all week. It started the moment we left the clinic.
It’s been raining all week. It started the moment we left the clinic.
My mother always had the best luck. She is humble and will never admit it but it’s true.
The mourners reminded me of starlings, wings weighted down by the rain of ceremony, no longer volant; broken by a straw that only they, each one of them, knew the individual weight of.
When I was 17 it was a very bad year.
We were as close as the moth and the flame, the tongue and the bad tooth, back then.
When I was seventeen I related to Rick James much more than I did Janis Ian.
I turn down the gravel road; the sound beneath the wheels always reminds me of walking on fresh packed snow as a child.
Sister Sadie knows just how much father’s hand has shaped us.