“They watch the birds fly over the county road and rise above the low hill on the other side, a rabbit-shaped hill, tucked in and brushy in the folds. For a moment he loses the birds in the sun but the girl points and follows them with her finger until he finds them. The birds circle around and land in the near field again. The girl stays on point like a bird dog and makes another crane call and it’s as if she’s had control of them the whole time, that she’s guided them back to where she wants them, instead of the other way around.”Buy on PowellsBuy on Barnes & NobleBuy on Amazon
Ride the Great Pacific until you catch the perfume of profit and then cross the bar and follow the splinters, mud, and corpses inland. You’ll find us among the booms, the mountains of sawdust gone to paste, toiling beneath the seditious cumulus rolling from our stacks. Constellations, townships, cookfires rise. A dream of riches.Buy on PowellsBuy on Barnes & NobleBuy on Amazon
“Bullets are cheap,” she’d said to Bill at the hospital. The words had seeped out and he’d heard her and they’d argued before he died. That’s real guilt, she thought. The kind that gets shellacked onto your soul and turns yellow and kills you. She hated herself and felt there was nothing to change it. In the mirror her eyes looked back at her from someone else’s head. The sink never stopped dripping. This is hell, she thought. She twisted the knob until the name of the manufacturer was impressed into the flesh of her palm. It never stopped.Buy on PowellsBuy on Barnes & NobleBuy on Amazon
Brian Hart works as a carpenter. He and his wife raise pigs and chickens and hunt in the fall. He has two children. Idaho is home.