Category Archives: Slice of Life

Winter Kill

Posted on December 14, 2013 by Jim Stewart

Across the street and old man ferociously attacks the winter kill on his low-slung juniper. He steps back to clear the sweat and smacks his lips in satisfaction. “Won’t let the new stuff grow,” he says. His cat bobs her … Continue reading →

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When That Gregorian Calendar Rolls Over

Posted on December 9, 2013 by Jim Stewart

This time of year the anesthetic wears off and the nerves around your heart fray into syncopated buzzing lights that remind you of how the way you want to be differs from the way you are. The Accountant opens the … Continue reading →

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Nice Guys Get To Finish

Posted on December 7, 2013 by Jim Stewart

He stares loosely into the golden blue depths of her eyes, watching the dark shapes swim there, keeping to the shadowy deep. He guesses them to be piranha and decides not to go swimming. Maybe tomorrow after another long hopeful … Continue reading →

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Stuff

Posted on December 6, 2013 by Jim Stewart

A hanging bicycle the sleeve of a coat the chopping block by the woodpile the woodpile a motorcycle a car with no doors an unfinished model boat car doors a pile of papers on the counter a pile of papers … Continue reading →

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Now Your Leg Can Feed Your Heart

Posted on December 5, 2013 by Jim Stewart

“That’s where they got the replacement parts,” you say as you point at your shin. I look and sure enough there is a slice on the inside of your leg, neat butterflies, from your ankle halfway to your knee. Then … Continue reading →

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Dead-end Dad

Posted on December 3, 2013 by Jim Stewart

Flags wave in the breezy dark as houselights shine for no one. Across the street below, tired ghosts dance on closed garage doors. My cigar glows and ash sticks to my shirt. The wind tries to brush it away, but … Continue reading →

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Vialed and Tubed

Posted on December 2, 2013 by Jim Stewart

The moon, deranged and full of jazz, blows a hornless riff down the long chamber of cells where bars fling linear shadows across a concrete floor. One cell stands open, confusing the pattern with rude hatching, plaid on stripes in … Continue reading →

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Buddy the Elk Speaks Again

Posted on December 1, 2013 by Jim Stewart

Dear Narb, Saw you splitting wood the other day. You did wave and I thank you for that, but then you bared your teeth at me, which I found a bit disconcerting. I didn’t see or smell any fear or … Continue reading →

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Bow and Sinew

Posted on November 30, 2013 by Jim Stewart

I am alive at the vee of your legs contemplating your most moist embrace, marveling at the muscles that mothered my fatherhood a generation ago. As your back arches into a bow, my arms knot and I rise to press … Continue reading →

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Heating Air

Posted on November 29, 2013 by Jim Stewart

Before the sun crests the Cascades and spills into the valley where the river surges north, I’m out walking, arms rhythmically swinging like the gates on a furnace sucking air. A crow on a fence cocks his head and caws, … Continue reading →

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