by Centaur Lit | Oct 8, 2023 | Fall 2023
They had just given him a bed bath—my mom, her sister, and his daughter. They pulled a clean pair of briefs and a paper-white undershirt on him. I imagine the TV was on, as always, that the dog barked, and the wood stove crackled in the kitchen. “It was funny,” my...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 8, 2023 | Fall 2023
and they want to know my take on the current climate. The world smells sharply metallic, rusty, they say, the energy they’re picking up from our wavelength is jangly. They want a sitrep. They want to meet up. The unborn babies have been scrolling, noticing a lot of...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 8, 2023 | Fall 2023
I assured my daughter’s doctor that yes, Gemma could have the pill. So how did she get pregnant—with those pills in cunning containers. Never mind condoms or the Morning After pill, mostly too late. And lord knows what she sees in her guy with the fancy motorcycle,...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 8, 2023 | Fall 2023
The great-aunt-once-removed (by far the most common species of) yiayia who lived opposite the marble-tiled (turned holiday) villa your dad built for his parents but which they refused to move into; the ignore-her-at-your-peril yiayia who lurked outside the church and...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 8, 2023 | Fall 2023
You sit down on a piano bench next to someone who is or is not ready to play, and you begin to make music—hesitantly at first, and then with greater fervor depending on whether you’re someone who can love unilaterally, or if the other party gives some sign of joining...
by Centaur Lit | Oct 8, 2023 | Fall 2023
She was so tall, all she could see of the townspeople moving toward the forest for a picnic were open black umbrellas like a carpet of mushrooms. A yellow canary, feathers puffed with rain, looked down from a high branch. In her previous hometown, canaries came in...