Barrelhouse Review Book Review: 11/19 Know the Mother
WBUR Book Review: The Artery: 12/19 Calvin Hennick takes the father-son relationship on the road
2040 Review Book Review 3/19
“Initiation” Vermont Literary Review
Utility workers’ jackhammers had transformed the roads leading to Madison Heights into trenches of asphalt chunks and debris. The only way Olivia Johnson-Bridgewater and her daughter, Crystal could get to the Pemberton home was to leave the car parked at the bottom of the hill and climb the four and a half blocks to the house, keeping close to the curb. Olivia stepped carefully in her high-heeled suede pant boots to avoid turning an ankle. Although Crystal had on a pair of Uggs, she trailed a half a block behind her. Each time Olivia looked back, her daughter was clenching and releasing her mittened hands, apparently to fight off frost bite. “How much further, Ma?” Crystal said in an exasperated tone.
“PERSNICKETY” Meetinghouse: A Journal of New England Literature and Art
There was Davis, the accountant, who had a penchant for burping out loud while he was in mid sentence, never even pausing to say, “excuse me,” Brian, the burned out newspaper columnist who tried to hide his 2-pack-a-day habit from her, Jared, the corporate consultant, who pestered her incessantly about cutting her shoulder-length hair because he liked it short, Mark who nearly drove her to madness by ending every other sentence with the question, “You know what I mean?” and Brad, the entrepreneur who smiled too much, wore cologne that smelled too floral, and was so small in stature that the cuffs of his dress shirts brushed against his knuckles. They had all seemed like potential keepers to Raven, until she had discovered their shortcomings.
“KITCHEN FAN” Snake Nation Review
Wilton had raced against the clock before, but this time was different. Oh, sure, on a bad day he would race to take his spot on the assembly line at the tool and die plant before Supervisor Stokely made the rounds. There were the countless times he had put his short stubby legs to work rushing to ticket counters at the track to place a last-minute bet on the ponies. He’d even raced to get to Momma’s funeral back in 1967.