I live in the lavender gut of a horse, a beating heart just beyond the wall. And beyond that two old ladies sip tea on a white porch in the crabapple South, hoping for something that might squirrel up out of the ground, the age-old ground, the Southern ground, the ground at the top of a hill: a thin line of angels listening all boneless and hospitable from above, managing nothing with their tiny, modest, angel hands, hands that might just as well be days of the week. The long-gone Civil War is wearing a small red-and-gold cap once worn by an organ grinder’s monkey.Read more "A Clandesence of Angels"
“Another milkshake please.”
The waitress eyes her with disbelief. Catalogues her stained-through hoodie and greasy hair. Not that the waitress has room to judge with her own issues: a slight hunchback and blisters covered by her platform flats that she most certainly did not purchase in the 90’s and definitely do not smell with age.
“Another one, girly? Don’t you want some food?”Read more "Milkshake"
The following is an excerpt chapter from Ms. Never (published November 1, 2019) by Colin Dodds, whose poetry was previously published here at Visitant. The most recent description of Ms. Never: Ms. Never is the story of a woman with apocalyptic depression, and a man who buys human souls using the terms of service in […]Read more "Ms. Never | Joel’s Last Night, First Night – A Short Story"
The Stick Dawn is doing dawn, breaking its yolk. At the bank of the Trinity there is oneness. It is in small part, about the destiny of a conifer branch, cracked in an early winter’s wind. At the shoreline, its rhythm laps at the graveled bank, bald as a drumstick, thick as a child’s innocent […]Read more "The Stick"
Below is Part 9 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 8: Holding Patterns: Dowries Lateral dots et alia, I ditch anterior peruke, reconfigure dorsal ballast, and streamline for cultural pursuits as sleuth Dot Motley, Esq. Suited in dated sharkskin, I minimize drag and launch forward in full […]Read more "The Jill Hill | Deep Nectar: Rendezvous"
This is a Dove This is a dove, I think. I’ve never been good at bird identification. That’s funny, now that my job is picking up dead ones killed by the windmills’ spinning blades. There are 60 windmills in this “wind farm,” lots of dead birds. I think I might get a book. I mean, […]Read more "This is a Dove"
Below is Part 7 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 6: Rosemary Tisane: Cautionary Aura Divisa in partes tres, divided into three parts, Gaius Julius Caesar Most folks hear the word Caesar and think salad, but Gaius Julius (100-44 B.C.) was a conqueror talking all Gaul—France, […]Read more "The Jill Hill | Twist: In Parts"
Overnight Mom’s short-term memory no longer tethers one moment to the next, so I’m at the hospital to stay overnight with her following breast cancer surgery. Though she still has moorings in the distant past, recent events float quickly to a further shore, so my job is to keep retying her to a drifting present. […]Read more "Overnight"
Valarie Smith studied English, Creative Writing and Journalism at NYU before moving to Portland, OR, where she’s worked in corporate communications for many years. In between, she was a subway courier, a literary agency assistant and the manager of the personal ads at an alternative newspaper (and yes, she could tell you some stories). Getting […]Read more "Getting Played"
Below is Part 6 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 4: Moister Oyster: Transport Gulled: Flights of Fancy Is the Pursuit of Happiness help or hindrance to orderly life? Tired of speed bumps, I, Dot Motley, have become pro-active against time’s assault. I now wear a […]Read more "The Jill Hill | Rosemary Tisane: Cautionary Aura"