The Clean Shirt The Barber Gave
The chair I grew up in My name is Nora, and the first chair I ever loved was a barber chair. It is a 1947… Read more
The Last Four Rows He Left
The morning I meant to do it alone The morning I drove out to cut down the last four rows of my father’s cornfield, I… Read more
The Caps My Wife Knit for the Ward
The Half Finished Cap Margie died on a Tuesday in October, in our own bed, with the window cracked the way she liked it even… Read more
The Letters That Came Home
The sack on the porch For thirty-eight years I mailed a handwritten letter to every graduating senior in our little town, nine hundred and forty… Read more
The Garage They Rebuilt Around Me
The boy with the bent fork My name is Marcus Webb. I am seventy years old, and for most of my life I have been… Read more
The Key The Pastor Handed Me
The year nothing came up I have lived on this farm outside of Haleyville for fifty-one years, and in all that time there was only… Read more