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Things Unseen

Things Unseen

The Strong, Silent Type

What are tears for?

Beneath the black rocks

No one knows what happened.

A Neighborhood of Porches

Striking a lighter may be the most intimate contact of my day.

A meeting in reality and in imagination

In the photo she had been shouting so hard the veins on her neck stood out.

The persistence of memory

“It’d be interesting to know why this perfume is so important to you,” my shrink said.

She took her bony forefinger and made the sign of the cross on my forehead

“Hallelujah,” she said the last word, drawing it out

Sing us a Catholic song in Nigerian tongues

The tune was simple enough, but to pronounce the words with the correct Izzi intonation was grueling.

True Love Waits

I dreamed of what it would be like to enjoy marital sex, but mostly of what it would feel like to not be alone.