Blog

John had been called to Bill Powell’s bedside in the two-story brick house at the end of a white concrete drive—the one carefully edged from its encroaching nature at the seams of all the rock and bed and border. Bill Powell had pulmonary fibrosa and lay in a fearful...

Sarah Selecky: Write a scene that involves porcelain, cedar, and something that’s stolen. -- I lean against the sink in the patient’s room on 5, trying to look non-anxious. That’s what we say when we write in the log book, a “non-anxious presence.” The patient got...

I sat in the car after yoga adding to my grocery list. I stared at a kid with his bike on the corner, but visualized my refrigerator crisper—how many carrots? Had the cabbage gone brown? The light turned green and the boy had a moment where he had to push his legs...

I hadn’t expected them all to arrive this way—some grey and barely beating, some beating hard, so punctuated that spits of blood flicked across the dining room rug. Bright red circles, round as pearls. I can’t imagine how they found me. I put cotton batting into shoe...