#m.c. schmidt

by Kevin Snyder A caterpillar fingers its way up my forearm. I’ve shut my eyes so I can only feel the fine hairs and half an inch of tiny stubs. Its head antennas the air. It doesn’t know that the whole world is the rectangle of my arm. Mom plods in. We’re in the Pink Lady tonight. I hide the critter in my fist and my fist beneath the blanket. She sits, breathes, asks what I’m up to. Her neck…

by M.C. Schmidt She found them on eBay and got them for a steal. Once they arrived, she wrapped them and kept them in her underthings drawer until Russ’s birthday. “What’s this, Norma?” he asked when she presented him with the gift. She raised her eyebrows to say, Open it and see… To her delight, he got it. “Well,” he said, smiling at the stack of postcards. There were fifteen of them, blank,…