MIA KERNAGHAN

There it is – another morning thought, discarded, of a true feeling that flew out in slanted words, which once meant something, now...

It seems that all I’m good for nowadays is sitting and smoking and staring out the window, listening to a bus trill come to a full stop,...

That same walking-white-knuckled feeling. That cigarette pile still sitting outside. That slow-burn healing. That slamming sound of an...

I sat beneath a strawberry moon and remembered so clearly that night we spent in Colorado — how Saturn told me to have no fear and trust...

There’s no magic pacing on the back porch, no magic in those half-smoked cigarettes sitting outside, no magic screaming to the sky and...

Is this it? The final closed door, the last yellow sundown we’ll see, two crossed arms and the unmistakable feeling of estrangement —...