How To Die :: A Poem

In physics, what’s called Escape Velocity Is necessary for leaving earth’s gravity. My dying mother asked for ostrich-skin boots, Proper footwear in Texas for making tracks. My father escaped in a P-51. An old friend told us Of waking, in tears, from a dream of flying with him. The morning my husband died I watched his legs Churning like when a dog dreams of chasing rabbits. He was working on…

From my cushion on the floor I couldn’t see the view, only the wide blue sky on days it was blue (and an angry grey on rainy days). But I knew without looking what was there, below my cliff side house: a wide bay, an aquamarine lagoon reaching out toward breakers on a fringing reef, then the midnight blue of the deep ocean beyond, and above that a baby-blue sky sporting a variety of cottony…

Working Girl, a poem by Mitchell Hagerstrom

WORKING GIRL In the wee hours, but not quite dawn, I walk up to the 24-hour grocery for a fat Sunday Times, passing a tousled-headed blonde Who’s probably hoping for one last trick As she waits for the BART to open. She’s unpainted, almost waif-like. I imagine a tiny place in the East Bay, maybe A part-time weekday job, and two small children Home asleep, entwined in each other’s arms. There’s…

ORNAMENTAL BRUISES, a new short story on TOE by Mitchell Hagerstrom

At a small table beneath an open window, two women sat talking and drinking from tall cans, filling an ashtray. A quiet neighborhood, everyone watching late night t.v. or in bed with a book or a lover, the only sound the drone of crickets, like a radio turned low to play all night long. Tired? Gina asked. You want for me to go home? Helen shook her head, then lifted her arms and ran her fingers…

                    A translucent layer of silver coats every tree limb, every pine needle and blade of grass. Power’s out. To warm the house the oven door’s propped open, and on top something stew-like set to simmer. Blanket-draped, huddled in sweats and sweaters, hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, I read Fawn Brodie’s Jefferson by window-light, knowing the land outside was once…

XMAS TREES by Mitchell Hagerstrom

One night in early December, the woman passed a Xmas tree lot on a corner where an old 3-story Victorian had been torn down in the spring. The lot was lit by a string of lights propped on tall, precarious poles. When she stepped into the dense stand of trees, it was like being in the middle of a real forest. She wandered about, studying the trees, admiring certain ones. A broad-shouldered man in…

"LUNCH WITH FRANCIS" a short story by Mitchell Hagerstrom

It was a Chinese place, a hole in the wall on Kearney Street, and it was packed. You know who comes here, don’t you, the girl said. I know who you mean, the woman answered. Aren’t we right near his offices? Yeah, and they won’t let autograph seekers bother him. I’m really hungry, the woman said. The pair had walked from Market, up through Chinatown and into North Beach. Before that they had been…