I am middle aged when you mention
in passing
that as a child at Christmastime
you were chased around your neighborhood
by big blond boys shouting
Christ Killer!
Kike!
I’ve known you all my life,
yet you are distant land,
and few years remain for me to touch that soil.
Jennifer usually writes poetry, occasionally writes short fiction. See more at her website.
Mrs. Wells allows the Catcher into her home, reminding herself there are too many plates on the table. The fugitives: three colored men of dark complexion. Two colored women, one copper, one chestnut. Her gaze shifts to the six plates cradling crumbs, disregarding the peeping eyes from underneath the floorboards.
When K.B. Carle is not exploring the realms of speculative, jazz, and historical fiction, she avidly pursues misspelled words, botched plot lines, and rudimentary characters. Her work can be found in Pennyshorts and Sick Lit. Magazine.