In what order are events stored in our memories? My brain edits our days down to scrapbook snapshots: our brown legs, entwined on a ship’s deck; your bikini-framed belly, round and taut as a beachball; the veins of my arms like lines on a roadmap home. I categorize our moments. By time: You made me laugh. We shared a wine bottle. We made love. By size: Your small hands, wrists thin as the bedrails. Your wide smile. Your infinite heart. By importance: Me. You. This life we’ve

Sunlight streamed through the window and followed the old man. Five measured steps. Pivot. Five more the opposite direction. Repeat. He paused only when a white-coated figure silently emerged from the room. “Hank. How is she?” The younger man shook his head and grimaced. “Sorry, Stanley. It’s too soon to tell.” Stanley released the breath he’d been holding, and deflated. His own white coat swallowed him. He ran gnarled fingers through wispy, silver hair. “Can I go in?” “Not y

“I can’t leave her now, she’s already gone.” Dad gets up and fiddles with the kettle. He fills it with more water, even though our cups are full, water still steaming. I’ve been away from home for too long. The wallpaper in the kitchen is still the same, but I couldn’t remember the rosebud pattern being that off-red colour. The only upgrades I noticed was the lemon tree’s branches had been stripped back. “She’s going to ask for a divorce,” I say. Dad flicks the kettle back on

I swing the braided strap over my shoulder, inhale the leather’s musk. I am collecting, like snapshots, all the little acts of leaving her, filing them away as proof that I took action. I pull open the door, walk through it. I knew I should travel light, so I got Jeanne to buy me this new purse two weeks ago. I told her I wanted one big enough to hold a bottle of liquor. She liked the joke and bought the big purse for me. No problem. But I haven’t packed any liquor in it, jus

Franchesca leaned against the brick wall and waited for the numb feeling to take over as she let the tiny bag slip from her fingers, drop slowly to the pavement at her feet, and become just one more of the dozens of “tenderloin butterflies”: baggies torn open by jonesing, shaky hands floating on the wind eventually littering the dark streets of the district she regretfully called home. She felt dizzy; the fever had gotten worse. Tomorrow she would go back to the clinic. An e

Yours is the bleakest of evenings and yes, I do know who you are. Thin-lipped, unsmiling, resting your head in your hands. You offer me nothing, not even a candle’s flicker from your shuttered house. I lit my last match after the sun fell, then climbed your land’s fence, carrying this weight. Nearer, I rested a while by those hedges, so ragged they seemed culled by a scythe of hate. There was the tool itself, lying in a ditch, so I slid it under my belt. Now I’m crossing your

The front door slammed. Roger’s boots clomped along the floor towards me in the bedroom. The sound stopped near the bed. “Marcy, you’re in the same position as when I left this morning.” He sighed. He leaned over to give me a kiss, but I pulled my legs closer to my chest and my head towards my knees, icy air piercing through a tear in the back of my sweatpants. His lips stopped short of touching my cheek. His warm breath reeked of garlic and coffee. I could feel Roger’s disap

Everyone stopped talking when they crossed the threshold. Each visitor peered into the long, freshly-hewn pine box that lay on the table. Some of them kneeled and mouthed words. All of them spoke softly to the tired woman with auburn hair and red-rimmed eyes standing nearby. After hours of, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Nancy,” and, “Your mother was a wonderful woman,” the room was finally empty. The visitors coalesced around food in the kitchen. No one noticed the large golde

It was my sister Anja who suggested the Erie Zoo. We were on the rocks so I took my girlfriend for a lunch date. I wanted it to be magical for us. Walking the open gravel paths a warm breeze playfully ruffled my hair. Sunlight dappled and winked through the trees as if saying, “We got this, Mike. Roxanne is going to love it.” I stuffed a few bills into the donation box and Roxanne kissed my forehead, murmuring a low thanks. I wanted to hold her hand but she was already walkin

The bay thrashes against itself like a dying eel. It’s a warm August night, and somewhere in Pocomoke Sound, a tiny skiff is buffeted by the chop. There’s a woman up front with binoculars and a man in the back who’s been rowing for hours. Fortunately, she tells him to stop. “Kill the light,” she says. “The farm’s ahead.” Harvey snuffs the flame of an old storm lantern. Off on the distance, a granule of light flickers in and out of the treeline. Thea checks that her tools are

The stranger came to Karamea with two bullets, and left with only one. It was Len Carlyle he put down: some old grudge from the Māori wars up north, maybe. Din’t matter: stranger came to town, stranger left Len Carlyle bleeding in the mud, stranger rode east without another word. Must’ve been a tough bloke to ride the Kahurangi in winter - the mountains ate pioneers and shat out bones. The late Len Carlyle had one rifle, no sons, and two daughters: Alice and Maud. Alice was t

There are times to treasure, and people to treasure. “Call!” “Pair of jacks.” “Full house!” The grownups traded loud stories between endless poker hands. I was five and exhausted, pretending I couldn’t hear. it seemed I’d barely drifted asleep when a shrieking teakettle startled me awake. “Good morning, lazybones.” My auntie smiled. I sat up, cold air on my shoulders, hard couch under me, soft comforter over, the scent of bacon. A firm hand offered a mug of hot orange juice.

“You wander around too much. Can’t sit still,” Jamie said to himself in a voice deeper than his own. “Just post up someplace, boy.” He kicked at whatever brush fell underfoot as he went. Leaves went flying. Sometimes the rotting leaves from last fall hid muskrat burrows, and if he twisted his ankle in one, he wouldn’t be able to carry anything back. The leather strap of the rifle cut into his shoulder, but it wasn't so bad. Last time, it was just too long of a day, he figured

I never wanted children. He and I agreed before we got married that we weren’t going to have kids. But accidents happen — as I counted the pills in the package in one hand, and the number of days I was late on the other, I was filled with equal parts dread and awe. I lie. It was mostly dread. This was not what I wanted. But he was thrilled. So I pretended to be happy. We named her Joy. I think I picked that name not because I felt joy at her impending arrival but because I wa

I have this idea that as we go through life, we tie knots in ourselves. Knots tied loosely to allow for easy release, or tied tightly to handle their intended load. Sometimes, we tie these knots in others; and we undo those which hold us down. For the longest time, I believed that as life pushes and pulls, we naturally come to understand our heartstrings. I was wrong. … On my first birthday, Mum laid five items on the floor: a storybook, an abacus, a pair of scissors, a plate