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Girl, Writer
An earlier version appeared in LALCS MSMU, January 2024
I used to bask like a cat on a sunny window sill in Mom’s bright yellow kitchen, a daisy-wallpapered haven from the moody Iowa weather and our creaking wood-frame house, haunted somehow, remnants of bad nights and sad scenes hanging like cobwebs in the corners. In the other world of the yellow kitchen, Mom’s secret for chocolate chip cookies was extra vanilla extract; then take them out while they’re still a little gooey.
Read Girl, Writer.
Streets of Sorrow
Published first in Evening Street Review, October 2022
“‘Beyond the cracked sidewalk, and the telephone pole with layers of flyers in a rainbow of colors, and the patch of dry brown grass, there stood a ten-foot high concrete block wall, caked with dozens of coats of paint. There was a small shrine at the foot of it, with burnt out candles and dead flowers and a few soggy teddy bears. One word of graffiti filled the wall, red letters on a gold background: Rejoice!’”
Read Streets of Sorrow.
Of Course, I Didn’t
Published first in Rock Salt Journal, October 2022
The night my parents reported me missing, the police came over and searched the house. Missing kids can turn up in closets where they’ve dozed off playing hide-and-seek. The heating ducts in the old house conducted sound between floors, so I heard the doorbell, my father giving orders, my mother’s mousey squeak.
Read Of Course, I Didn’t.
Sofa
First published here, 5 August 2022
Just 101 words long, this piece takes less than a minute to read. Micro fiction challenges prose writers to be as succinct as poets, who craft full narratives with powerful precise language.
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Harriet and the Sparrow
Published first in Esoterica, March 2022
Rain fell on the roof of the cottage where Harriet lived with her parents. She sat at the window while they bickered in the kitchen. “Thin soup again,” said Father.
“Earn more; we’ll eat better.”
“A good wife makes the smallest sum suffice, stupid woman.”
Read Harriet and the Sparrow.
Real Writer
Published first in East of the Web, 30 September 2021
Meg rented office #10a where she worked most weekdays, her desk facing the door, the window raised behind her. No drapes. No blinds.
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Mr. Harris
Published first in Deracine, Summer 2020
I close all the windows. The wind is picking up & the dust will blow in. In the streaming sunshine, a man walks alone on the dirt road.
Read Mr. Harris.
A Place to Get Away
Published first in Backchannels, Issue 4 March 2020
Before the wildfire some years back, Grandpa George’s summer place was an ageing cabin, a relic from a time when the mountain resort was a novelty to city dwellers, a picturesque place to get away an hour’s drive from downtown.
Read A Place to Get Away.
Jennifer Frost Writes 