Kate Ryan

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.

She got too high while watching The Bachelor and had a misanthropic breakdown.

The birds abandon their posts in the pepper trees, sending tiny, oblong leaves raining to the ground.

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

Recently, it was announced that the Ocean’s Eleven remake will be ladies-only too. Could it be that we’ve embarked on an era in which women take center stage?

It was a tradition of theirs. When siblings Sue and Johnny went home to their mother’s for Christmas, they watched the 11 o’clock local news.

She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.