Woman Ironing, by Edgar Degas
by
October 24, 2024
I took the truck down the rough, narrow trail, rounding the final rutted bend out of the woods and onto the rocky beach surrounding the lake.
By Joseph Long
Ain’t that done yet? Ain’t that done? Three words which, // if spoken too soon, sears itself upon // my balloon.
By Jeff Blechle
This morning Yeorgi woke up in his backyard feeling a bruise on his lower back, convinced that stacked chairs and vodka were not his friends, nor was his wife, if he was being honest, or his goat Omar, whose pretense of loyalty clashed with Yeorgi’s trusting nature—and poor little Boots lying dead with light bulb fragments decorating her scant cleavage, well, she was no great pal either, always shoving him into hazardous, life-threatening tasks, always trying to get out of paying him, criticizing.
By Jia Yan Tan
but if that doesn’t work then call your mother