The Graveyard

Sometimes, I imagine what it must be like to be buried underground. When I miss my cousin terribly, I think about rolling back the grave grass like a carpet.  Like a blanket, or a sheet.  I could unbury him, and watch the ground unfurl. When I was little, I was captured by the story of …

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A Rendering…

Render.  What is this body I have made? How strange, this physicality of self.  The things I have become, and all of those I haven’t. Sometimes, when my eyes are not quite working right, I look like someone else inside the mirror.  Unfamiliar.  Foreign.  I wonder if my mother would still know me—but, of course, …

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Creative Writing Friends…send me your work.

The Northridge Review is shifting to an online literary magazine.  We are accepting work from writers across all genres, fields, what have you.  I'm the Prose Editor for the Spring Edition, and I'd love to see your stuff.  Send me your weird, eclectic, unconventional writings.  Make my skin crawl.  Give me nightmares.  Or, just tell …

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