issue 19 – PSYCHOPOMP.COM

In the middle of the night, with the deer, by Christine Barkley

I’m standing in the middle of the road, in the middle of the night, with the deer.The darkness and the […]

We aren’t sure how much we’ve lost. We don’t know where our fingers end. The walls reach into empty space,

Death Comes to Dinner The holiday season approaches, when the living gather in their warm, fleshy social units to eat,

I rained my grandfather’s ashes onto the dark lapping Yamuna,and in a breath they filled the space between spume and

I’m a drummer, a sailor, and a sufferer of eczema. I’m a boxer for the duration of a cross-Canada flight

and they said “I nor we, us, I mean the fifth one.”

No one thought she’d go the way she did, miredin car smoke, no death note. She lived a badlife, died