I had a dream about lines, monkeys, the smell of baking cakes, a wall of frozen rodents, the smell of a room after sex, ozone in the air, which I could see they looked like the tips of nails violating the ceiling, two shoes on the wire under which the big trucks drive, swinging things, […]
“When dreams finally descend,” Lilly said, “we wake up.” “That’s probably true,” Henry said, laughing. It was a hot day, a day that would require lots of water. I remember mountains a half-day’s walk in the distance. He said he was going to them and that we would maybe see him again in a two […]
When the storm came, I thought of signs. A red Budweiser memory speaking in almost unintelligible script, a women with long blonde hair and a knife in her pocket that took me back to the sounds of church and imagined images of ghosts, the powder smell of a man’s shoulder in a crowded room (I […]
I met him in a place where the pigeons gather because of how, by 4PM or so, the reflection of the sun burns against the brick wall of the Federal Bank across the street, and pigeons, I assume enjoy the diminishing of the day. From below our table we heard the ripple of flags in […]
He said to himself that every day he would perform the same act. Significantly, this act could not be a trivial or everyday one, such as drinking an inebriating liquid or showering at precisely the same time each day. It would have to be some act that had significance, meaning beyond the act itself. Immediately, […]
Soon it clear’d up; the clouds began to fly, The driving north refin’d the show’ry sky; Then to pursue our journey we began: Ovid, The Metamorphosis, Book 6 In 2015, he asked when had I learned the color yellow and the sound of chimes. He called them “travel things.” My father reached into the mountains […]
I wonder about my face. It’s something I’ve never observed. Lucy told me once, “But you have mirrors in your house.” I said, “You’re crazy if you think what’s in that mirror is flesh and bone?” And so, I wonder about things I have yet to see in the round, width-blown vision of my own […]
“That night–I remember–it was so cold, we didn’t want to touch each other,” she said. “It was blue, cold, a night without constellations.” He said, “It was a long time ago.” She took this response to mean: He doesn’t remember the night. She took this to mean: In ten years, he won’t remember me. “You’re […]
My name is Steve Ersinghaus. In my main work, I’m Professor of English at Tunxis Community College, where I’ve taught writing, literature, and new media courses since 1995. I moved to Connecticut from El Paso, Texas that same year. I am also a poet and fiction writer. This will be my third year participating […]
April 25, 2010 – 10:01 pm
I’ll be participating in this summer’s 100 Days project. This year I’ll be writing fictions on the Borges model, meaning forms unconstrained by story frameworks. Last year I lead the project with a story a day for one hundred days. Doing this was an amazing experience. But now, rather than form, I want to concentrate […]
August 29, 2009 – 10:10 am
The football game didn’t go well. Half way through the first quarter a herd of bulls stampeded down the stadium tunnel and scattered on the field. The quarterback had just fallen back. The receiver was thinking, “I’m open.” He saw the ball in the air and as it was about to float slowly into his […]
August 28, 2009 – 1:23 pm
He started drinking at 6 in the morning, was sober by 2 in the afternoon, but for the life of him he couldn’t say who that was showering in the bathroom, whose or what gray cat had just started up the hall, why the room’s width had grown in size, and what was that shape […]
August 26, 2009 – 9:29 am
Bart, for example, who was never associated with great tragedy but with awkward steadfastness, Bart, who would never be associated with a memorable wedding, watched his father quickly taken by cancer. His father had stayed active for as long as possible and made sure that every morning and every night Barry, a lab mix he’d […]
August 25, 2009 – 8:41 am
“Remember the time travelers?” the velociraptor asked. “I remember,” the other velociraptor said with grinning, dromaeosaurid wistfulness. “They were so crunchy and gooey and helpless.” “Not so helpless.” “Yes, helpless, coming out of their machine, setting up shop so close to the house, raising sounds that would’ve made grandmother water the weeds with her breakfast. […]
