Tag Archives: Anthony R Cordello

On his birthday I brought him compression socks I hung over the bed rail before sitting in the one chair that didn’t double as a toilet. Flowers were growing in his mouth, seeds from the gift shop, the Get Well … Continue reading →

A trumpet played out of the hole in my chest. Long pining notes sailing up into the air. I tried to grab one in my hand but they split in two whenever I got too close. Nothing to worry about, … Continue reading →

Friday and I was driving all the way home to sit in the one chair that did not double as a toilet and watch my father lurch through a dream. I stopped for gas and flipped open my wallet to … Continue reading →

She said it was not a cavity but a ghost interred in the molar. She asked if I had been around any fresh graves recently so I painted a picture of how I came to collapse at a cemetery last … Continue reading →

His bedroom was full of books bound in gold, studded with gems. The ivory covers depicted scenes I had only heard of before. A wedding, a car crash, a shattered window, a house with a hula hoop around the chimney. … Continue reading →