#jotsandscribblesblog

Little desert sparrow,

what song lies on the wind?

Thanks for reading this excerpt from my short poem "Desert Sparrow"! The rest of the story can be found on my Substack.

The flower curls outward to you, like a brush meant for cleaning or a gown ready to twirl. It is small, and blue, with tinges of brown at the edges. In the midafternoon light, you think it looks as though it would prefer an evening glow or a dusky shadow to the sun’s flattening glare. Layers of spiny petals ruffle beneath the topmost ones, reminding you of how a pine cone’s interlocking scales will flare out when the seeds are ready to scatter.

Thanks for reading this excerpt from my short fiction piece "Beneath the Juniper Tree"! The rest of the story can be found on my Substack.

When I die, what will happen to all the birthday cards I’ve kept in my desk drawer?

When I finally pass on, when my soul departs from my wrinkly, aged body—if I am so lucky to possess one at the time of my demise—I am certain my next of kin will have much more pressing matters to attend to than my old greeting cards and birthday wishes from relatives long gone and friends since forgotten.

Thanks for reading this excerpt from my short fiction piece "After the Funeral"! The rest of the story can be found on my Substack.

A bead of sweat dripped down from her crisp, hairsprayed bun, just barely missing the corner of her glitter-smeared eye. Beneath the glaring stage lights, she pirouetted into a fouetté sequence, flinging the sweat from her face out onto the lacquered wooden stage. Briefly, she caught a glimpse of liquid diamond before it splattered to the ground, its plop lost to the swell of music rising from the orchestra pit.

Thanks for reading this excerpt from my short fiction piece "Pas de deux"! The rest of the story can be found on my Substack.

I killed the basil plant. It was a gift from my husband after college graduation, when I’d sent in my first round of job applications. It shouldn’t have been so easy to kill. But there it sits, out on the abandoned grill under the heedless heat of a high desert summer sun. Pale, and wilted, and crispy, and undeniably dead.

Thanks for reading this excerpt from my short fiction piece "Sweet Summer Basil"! The rest of the story can be found on my Substack.