Beth wore blue jeans and a pale pink bra when she slapped me. And the rest was familiar too. Our bedroom, hardwood floors, the desk and the lamp, and our wedding picture above the bed. Beth's black hair, ice pale eyes afire, the weight of her breasts, and the slope of her belly, and the cradle of her hips.
Essayist, book reviewer, and author of Seven Wheelchairs: A Life beyond Polio
A publication of the University of Iowa Press
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Another Bit of Flash Fiction Published at Camroc Press Review
I Could See My Blood
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