Author Archives: sputterpub

Cousins (3 of 3)

I guess the crisis with my cousins came when I was twelve. That’s when they really got into scrubland hunting, and I became a pacifist. They’d take their air guns and hike behind their houses to the undeveloped low mesa. … Continue reading →

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Cousins (2 of 3)

It was pretty obvious. Not like now, when hair color is mostly supposed to be recognized, either applied to young heads in odd patches and harsh colors, or modeled in natural tones of auburn or ash by middle-aged women in … Continue reading →

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Cousins (1 of 3)

My father was the only son in a Jewish clutch of eight. His parents had been fruitful five times before he arrived, producing a pair of twin girls and four individual daughters. My grandmother permitted one more pregnancy after my … Continue reading →

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Refresher

My hands are not experienced at this, for unfamiliar is the feel of you. I draw your essence in with every kiss and long to take your length, but this is new to me again; again I’m new confused with … Continue reading →

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Conditional Love

I don’t know what response to give you now. I wonder: can I leave your words alone? Impelled to answer, I do not know how to meet your sadness fairly. For the tone of recent messages is poignant, blue, in … Continue reading →

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Lost Children (Finish)

Cindy understood. For the first time in her memory she was most important to someone. She felt almost desperate in happiness. Eager. She had heard versions of the sex talk at school, from her mother, out of the mouths of … Continue reading →

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Lost Children (Start)

She was born in central California in the middle of the 1950s, in the middle of a family of boys. Her mother was vain and her father was egotistical; they neither noticed each other, really, so it wasn’t too surprising … Continue reading →

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Pragmatic

In your early middle years you cherished hopes for your children and disdain for your spouse. But by the time you neared 60, you’d gone beyond disappointed with your kids and you began to view your husband with favor. It’s … Continue reading →

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Shelby (A Semi-Acrostic)

As unselfconscious as the autumn light, a clumsy tumble bound of energy with streaming ears and boulder paws aflight atop a springing meadow… Come to me, oh tonic mongrel: be my everfriend. Example me your optimistic view. Remind me more … Continue reading →

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Sketching

This pen’s a stick of charcoal in my hand. I sweep in strokes across a page of lined buff paper, spiral-bound and pale as sand, or shade with tiny smudges. All I find outside commuting windows or beyond my walking … Continue reading →

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