Tag Archives: Anna Leonard

In My Nightstand Drawer

A deck of cards for solitary gin, for when the moon shows its face and my mother is asleep, fighting off happy dreams about her son, or perhaps visions of his pale, frigid feet in a cardboard box because we … Continue reading

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After the Before

Anna, you are everyone’s little goodie, but to me you are something else. His unmistakable handwriting bit me with the pearly whites of a repressed memory, nipping lightly at my steps, leaving a pain not unlike the sting accompanying the … Continue reading

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1837 Thomas Lane

You turn the key of what used to be your father’s car, an almost-black grey Subaru Forester, and it smells like him: clean and masculine, surprisingly not an oxymoron. You search for yourself, a need to reflect, a need to … Continue reading

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TO THE GINGER BOY, RESTING NAKED IN A CARDBOARD BOX WHILE THE WORLD STILL DARES TO TURN

Your face is now a hollow statistic the opioid crisis wants to exploit to further its political agenda. Troubled Kid, the headlines would have read if there were any headlines. This kind of thing doesn’t make the news anymore, but … Continue reading

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