I am building a god in my kitchen, piece by piece. His legs are old rusty kitchen tongs, the sort used for lifting ice blocks in the days before electric refrigerators. He is bowlegged, and his feet are sharp and full of tetanus. When he walks across the counters, he leaves scratches in the formica. […]

… into the cold pond, her back pressed against the wood of the dock. She slipped lower and the water, not yet freezing but feeling to her so close to crossing that line, lapped around her ankles, then higher as she went down, over her knees, stopping finally midway up her bare thighs as her […]