Tag Archives: M. J. Iuppa

Slumped in a straight-backed chair, she squints at her phone’s screen, scrolling for tragedies to comfort her. She likes to imagine what she would do when the whole world would know her terrible story. She practices saying the right thing … Continue reading →

In a sun-filled room that was full of afternoon shadows and raw wood, a barefooted man picked up his acoustic guitar and played a tune you knew by heart—those sad notes plucked in the comfort of his quiet lap. How … Continue reading →

This is the third day of sun. First warm morning in ninety-six days, but who’s counting. I’m still wearing one of my baggy sweaters over my night gown. I am not cold. I am freezing, holding my clay mug close … Continue reading →

Whenever it gets too snowy, too cold, too windy, she goes shopping. Mind you, she doesn’t need a thing. She has everything—a hunka-hunka husband, a set of twin boys, who keep her busy taking pictures of their constant boredom; a … Continue reading →

She. switched off the lamp and left her mother in the dark. She. didn’t have anything more to say. Her mother died the next day. She. planned the funeral mass, a bit giddy. It was hard to disguise. She. had … Continue reading →