Dinkum Thief

This Montana boy is dinkum apologetic because "dinkum" does not appear in his poetic aesthetic For, though a dinkum shameless lingual thief, He’s ashamed, as a dinkum fly-over American inlander, (O, let us in dinkum shame be brief) to never have pilfered "dinkum" from any dinkum New Zealander!

Fishing and the Names of Mountains

Deek Komplec and Danny Fars were hunting cutthroat trout in the lake they had known as Congress Lake since they were boys. They weren’t skinny, fleet-footed boys chasing the biggest fish anymore. Neither of them were paunchy in their age, but bones rumbled and creaked when they moved, and when they stood from a chair … Continue reading Fishing and the Names of Mountains →

A Prince

Old Daryl was a morbid sort. By the time he was sixty-five, he had his will all sorted, his bills finally all paid off, his porch rocker put where he could watch the sunset until he took part in it. When his buddies, the guys he’d grown up with, gone off to fight Hirohito with, … Continue reading A Prince →

Wall Shadow

How a tree’s shadow angled on the concrete tells all except green.

A Short Story of Lofty Longing

I’m rising to the twelfth floor on a slow dangle when it stops on three and what can I do? I sigh and snap watchward glances, but in elevators and buses you go where and whenever you’re taken, so I dangle and wait. And the elevator door-wings slide wide on an angel, a young creature … Continue reading A Short Story of Lofty Longing →

The Poet Awaits a Word

Under a pale sun— a thicket’s last leaf and, wind-ragged, a yellow finch Posted in response to the Ragtag daily prompt: Solitude.

A Seventh Discovery of Joy

Whether that shovel leans against the shed or turns soil is irrelevant.

When You Move to Montana, Don’t Tell a Soul

Those three weeks in August, Bill and Edna changed the sheets in the two extra bedrooms seven times. Seven times they stripped all the bedding off at least one of the three beds, hauled the sheets to the laundry room, washed and dried (but did not fold) them and hauled them back to the bedrooms. … Continue reading When You Move to Montana, Don’t Tell a Soul →

One of the Ways to Say So-Long

The taxi sat in the street below the window. Jacob knew the meter was running, but he still could not pick up his bags and open the door, then close it behind him and stagger his suitcase and trunk down the four flights to the exit and the taxi. He wanted Irene, his mother, to … Continue reading One of the Ways to Say So-Long →

Politics or The Doom of Last Lost County

“Eddy Tomplinson does have a certain flair,” Donnel Frisbuy said, “most of it odoriferous.” He looked into his mug of Montana Blue Ale and then took a chug of it. The topic of conversation was the upcoming election, and whom the Last Lost County Country might send to the State Legislature. Donnel was a burned-in-hell … Continue reading Politics or The Doom of Last Lost County →