When it rains in my city, tiny lifeforms sprout on car hoods, brick mortar, and wet dogs’ fur.
Each raindrop shudders as crystalline structures burst out, the air permeated by the wet hiss of their data transfer. I close my
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An Abandoned Changeling
[This is a sad story, and I wish it wasn’t true.]
In Iowa, the fairies came out in spring, building temporary homes in melted snow pooled between half-buried tree roots, bordered by mud and moss. Walking home from school, I’d
Junkett Hauser
The old man kept a jeweled caterpillar in his shirt pocket and only took it out for frail girls with haunted eyes and thrift-store sweaters. My mother saw it when she waitressed at the little Hungarian restaurant on 44th street
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