Henry’s diary was a soiled jubilation of a recluse’s childhood, stuffed under his iguana’s terrarium, reeking of fierce terror and hands-on scrutiny of grade school intimacy and psychopathy, page by flourished page, inflamed bedlam of erect body odors as purposeful and gusty as the sticky names recorded and blacklisted in backwash gray marker mapping who slithered under-soaped flesh out of station wagons into over-sparkled classrooms cloned with crappy kid’s art and Mom bumper stickers flush …
An ocean runs in reverse into the eyes of those who wept it. in the sound of their restless flow, mockingbirds ask us, speaking the language of loss, what worth it was trading life for shadows, cinder— why we let thousands die then, hold a séance as if we have no shame, no guilt asking for rain from those whose teeth have become ploughshares. Our fathers planted trees, but we fell them to park our self- drive cars— trees whose leaves were letters of appeal delivered, but always unread, …
I’m Marie Kondo-ing my condoa can-do attitudea consultant named Cait Shood(her name rhymes with GOOD) and yesI’ve been paralyzed byBarbies and clutter fromEmpty Nest Syndrome ever sincemy daughter grew up and left the housea decade goes fastlook Reese Witherspoonin Seventeen magazine circa 1999as ambitious ingenue Tracy Flick in Electiona construction paper choo-choo withhappy animals from daycare Dr. bills forG.A.D. F41.1 & Major Depression PartialF.33.4 my face at her weddingMigraine Not …
There are moose tracks on the snow outside the Grand Hotel Saltsjöbaden. The tracks hold pieces of the animal left behind, a tuft of hide, the strength of the animal here, the shadow of it there. I’ve seen moose in Idaho but never in Sweden. There is a moose hide in my parents' Idaho barn. My brother, living in the Alaskan bush, once killed a moose for the winter’s meat. The way the moose ambles along. The way moose legs look too spindly to carry such an enormous body. The unpredictability …
I was lifting weights at the gym when suddenly I was surrounded by a crew of Jaguar Knights from the 15th Century. We left the gym right away and headed to the southern jungles. I was told I would eventually have to wrestle a jaguar for my right to live. They all laughed. It was a harmless joke. I immediately trained in the art of weaponry which resembled a ballet with sharp swords. I hardened the nerves in my legs to feel as little pain as possible. All the exercises and training took place at …
Bay Area native Patricia Bidar’s stories have been published in Invisible City, SmokeLong Quarterly, Wigleaf, Sou’wester, The Pinch, Pidgeonholes, and elsewhere. Invisible City editor Tanya Žilinskas talked to Patricia about her Pushcart-nominated story “The Little Jenny,” which appeared in Invisible City’s Issue 3. Spoilers follow; you can read “The Little Jenny” here. Q: How did "The Little Jenny" come about? What was the inciting idea? A: The inciting image was that of the moth …