Tag Archives: Diane Webster

Almost Recaptured

He stacks four years of telephone books together like counting birthdays on one hand when someone stoops over and asks, “And how old are you?” Like if he threw the old ones away he’d have only today, and all the … Continue reading

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The Woman Stands

The woman stands behind a table selling gadgets no one sees while a cinder block wall has her back… guardian bikers shoulder to shoulder. Dark blue paint edges the wall in mountain sky hung with white clouds. Yellow sunshine haphazards … Continue reading

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Escape Gauge

After the rainstorm when sunshine sparkles on water-drenched petunias, the rain gauge measures the event with black liquid half an inch deep with rainwater and bee bodies. As if the bees discovered a new species of flower blooming nectar down … Continue reading

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Sharing More Than a Hug

I hug her and try not to pull back from the full-body skeleton beneath my arms like in the doctor’s office contemplating the plastic skeleton parked in the corner, staring hollowly outward with a slack-jawed silent howl until I pretend … Continue reading

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Wayward Strands

The braids of her hair mimicked concentric rings of the front yard sycamore through her uncle’s suicide as he shot himself in a field of pheasants grateful for another target, through the birth of her son perfect in every way … Continue reading

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Noon Between

Shirtless in mid-September the young man next door is as bronzed as the bottle of beer he carries to the backyard pond where he sits and drinks with goldfish sucking the rippling surface, and sparrows lured by ripened sunflower heads … Continue reading

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Not My Birthday

The day I was born was not my birthday. I hadn’t decided yet, but my mother had. Tired of me kicking her to death from the inside out she told the doctor to induce labor, and all I remember years … Continue reading

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