When he wakes up and complains about your coffee,
just smile. Show no concern that it's seven o'clock,
and he's out the door, rushing toward
the nubile barista at Café Amor.
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Posts Tagged ‘ Two Hawks Quarterly ’
Defeating the Forces of Café Amore by Laurie Barton
Mulling Spices by Jennifer Bradpiece
A little of this, a dab that,
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A Letter Not Sent by Kristine Ong Muslim
“The thing is that if you form bubbles, then you are liable to come up with more than one bubble. And these
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Without Words by Philip C. Barragan, II
The sound of our footsteps echoed through the hall. Dozens of faces too ill to smile stared at us as we tried not to look into their rooms. Hushed conversations mingled with the odors of Lysol, bleach and fresh flowers. We arrived at our destination.
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Dichos, and the Things my Mother Told Me by Philip Barragan
A Thousand Sad Pieces Golden light created a soft waterfall through the dense canopy of trees in the mountain village, filtering through the early morning mist rising from the valley below, falling sporadically on the roof of his adobe home. It crawled gently down the walls looking for the...
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Sniper-Man! Sniper-Man! Does Whatever a Sniper Can by April Fitzsimmons, Sgt. USAF (1985-1989)
LOS ANGELES, CA – “I was a sniper,” he said. “But you’re out now?” “Yeah. I did six years but I’ll probably re-enlist.” “Why?” I asked. “He’s got kids,” Galley-man hollered from his post. I was charging my lap-top down in the galley and at the next stop in Chico, Sniper-man got off to...
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Dead Man’s Nail by Dennis Fulgoni
You’re waiting for your best friend, Pablo Perez, to call. His father’s recently put in a pool, and you’re hoping for an invite. It’s already past noon, and no call, so the Poor Man’s Jacuzzi becomes your sanctuary, your oasis, on a hot afternoon.
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Time to Repaint the Barn by Darby Bailey
Shielded from a westward sun that could burn Through ripply glass circa 1899 Mandy the puppy buried open, no urn Covered above in sweet pea vine
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The Masked Boxer by Marykate Linehan
It was 13 years ago. I am 9 years old. It is a sweltering summer. The ocean breeze arrives right before sundown. The neighborhood children and I have gathered to play Flying Colors. We are choosing teams. A younger, filthy boy (resembling Pig Pen) walks up to me. “ Girls can’t do anything!” Hunter...
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Dining Alone by Darby Bailey
Single. Female. Dine alone.
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I See Gay People by Dale Madison
I See Gay People (click here to open up in Quicktime) About Dale Madison Dale Madison knew he was a performer since his first grade appearance in “Jimmy and the Sleep Fairies.” He received his first on screen film credit on the original 1988 John Waters movie, Hairspray. As project manger of the Men...
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Making Movies by Martha Woodroof
I was 21, living in Houston, and appearing in a play called Fire, when Robert Altman came to town to film BREWSTER MCLEOD, a now mostly-forgotten movie that was now mostly-forgotten actor Shelley Duval’s debut. Rumor had it Mr. Altman had plucked her from behind the cosmetics counter at Foley¹s department
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The Queen’s Greens by Darby Bailey
As a dandelion In Her Majesty’s lawn
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Crawl, Toddle, Walk, Run by Darby Bailey
I am scared to step over the edge of the pier I tell myself When I get there I will be happier When I get there I won’t remember feeling bad
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Emancipation of Self (Through Loss of an Other) & Others by Crystal Moore
About Crystal Moore: As an artist, I think in images. Instead of stringing together words, I compose visual essays of form, symbolic meaning, light, time, and context. I think of art as a tool and as a process. It can be used as a catalyst for dialog and can help promote social and personal...
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Catch by Diana Corbin
Mom always wished for the moon for everyone else and settled on dirt for herself. Take Dad. He was gone for months at a stretch even before he ditched us for his new family. Each time he left, he would come back about the time Mom, my little brother, Simon, and I almost forgot...
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Johnny by Loretta Williams
This is not a story anyone wants to hear, so I’ll give it to you slow. You let me know when you’ve heard enough. My cousin Johnny wasn’t really my cousin. He was the stepson of my aunt, my mother’s older sister who had had a bad first marriage and rather than marry again,...
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The Art of Rush Hour Traffic by Josh Stewart
Everyone is leaning forwards as though the wind is dragging them backwards through the day, but the cars are
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Nobody Thought It Would Rain At God’s Funeral by Mike Rosen
They were too overwhelmed by the sight of decaled media vans and fiending paparazzi rising up the hillside, one cocked elbow at a time. A man from Hong Kong, along with a woman from Denmark and a teenager from Paramus, New Jersey all watched the spectacle from their cell phones as they each spent...
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the jasmine hedge is intoxicating by Gretchen Mattox
I fear being like her and I am like her the critical part that wants to hurt the other render them helpless and needy no one measuring up, everything falling short
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