#phyllis wax

Eva, my downstairs neighbor, with her Tuesday fuchsia hair and her Friday hair chartreuse, elusive as quicksilver spilled and rolling, a hundred tiny orbs in all directions, dashed from the house in her tiger-striped slip dress, the one I’d have stolen, given the chance. She was going to miss her bus—again. Next door, the snake in the shrubbery raised his head and sniffed her perfume. He lowered the hood on his classic red Corvette, wiped a mote of dust from that shiny apple and slunk on over to offer her a bite. by Phyllis Wax

Bright-eyed it lights up the lake. by Phyllis Wax

“Flashback,” Phyllis Wax, in The Widow’s Handbook