Michael Knight

Our Lady of Consolation

Ninety-one days after I quit smok­ing, my wife bush­whacked me with a brochure for Our Lady of Consolation. I was already in bed with a ser­i­al killer nov­el. Lake fin­ished brush­ing her hair, then poked her hand into a purse hang­ing on the door­knob, fished out the brochure and dropped it in my lap. On the cover—an aer­i­al pho­to­graph of a white stone monastery nes­tled among bushy pines.

You need a –more

Brad Watson

Perfume

He’d always been stunned by his wife’s beau­ty when she slept.  Sleeping, her nat­ur­al beau­ty was unde­ni­able, entire­ly unin­flu­enced by his feel­ings, her feel­ings, their var­i­ous dif­fi­cul­ties with one anoth­er, resent­ments, by their com­plex his­to­ries, unful­filled long­ings, secrets. In repose, there was noth­ing to inter­fere with the unde­ni­able fact of her phys­i­cal love­li­ness.  You might even –more

Meg Pokrass

I Asked The Lord To Giveth Me A OneTouch

When I stepped bare­foot on the bee I was aller­gic to bees. The Jesus-man stead­ied me with an even gaze. My attrac­tion to the Jesus-man may have had some­thing to do with feel­ing like a fraud, which I’d been feel­ing for too long.