Edward C. Lynskey
Keats in Boston
"Look madam, Iím not, as you say, peddling nature encyclopedias or vacuum cleaners. I work for the Honorable Andy Roots. Please listen carefully. With your single vote, he will become our next U.S. Senator. Quite simply, thatís all it takes. What we need from you . . .
I wasn't looking for them. I only opened the mirrored door of my mother's medicine cabinet, gently, to look for a Kleenex when the lip balms fell out: small yellow jars clattering into the sink, bouncing off the toilet seat, knocking a toothbrush off the counter. She must have had them stacked in the narrow cabinet, at least fifteen of them, maybe more.
Cherry Colored Crayons
She lied. Just yesterday Selma swore to Grandma Rose that she'd never again disturb Gordon, her dead turtle. Yet, that night, same as the many nights before, she had tiptoed silently downstairs in the dark while everyone in the household was in bed, and dug him up again. He was still there. It was exactly two weeks ago that Selma's brother, three year old Alexander, had soaped, and bathed poor Gordon in a sink of scalding water.