Veronica Castrillón grew up in Asbury Park, where the view from her bedroom was a carousel, The Pink Flamingo hotel, the Palace Amusements, and a porno theatre.
Contents of the Newlyweds Kit given to me, in a yellow plastic bag, as a free gift from the State of Utah when I obtained my marriage license: 1 trial-size packet of Tide detergent with color-safe bleach 2 purse-size packets of Kleenex 1 trial-size box of Nabisco Wheat Thins crackers 1 romance novel about a […]
Pablo is dreaming about frogs the color of dirty motor oil. They are small with wrap-around grins and bulging eyes and there are thousands of them in the ditches flanking the road he is walking on. The frogs are jumping on each other either to get out of the ditch or because jump is what […]
Outside, it was raining pianos: anxiousfaced, tumbling steinways reflected in his mottled blue irises, the lenses of his spectacles twitching upon each explosion, inkblack hair sleeked down in a immaculate shell, a brown rep necktie fastened by a lopsided windsorknot strangulating his pate (his face puffing, somewhat rubefacting with stress), yet his windowpane pantlegs churning […]
In absolute darkness you feel dizzy from the lack of light. You want to put your hands out to steady yourself. The wall against your back feels slimy, hard, smooth. Your feet are unstable, your torso shaky. You hold your hand in front of your eyes but nothing is there, as if the blackness has […]
*Italicized sections from Wallace Stevens, “Thirteen Ways of Looking At A Blackbird” II I was of three minds, Like a tree In which there are three blackbirds. In the city, I am never lonely. Riding the bus I feel the comfortable heft of the woman next to me, a total stranger, but our bodies touch […]