Category: Flash Fiction Friday

Lost Tourist by Meg Pokrass

It was her high school boyfriend who started the trouble. She was just sixteen. He suggested that she didn’t have a normally shaped vagina, his finger skittering around it like a lost tourist. “You need to see a doctor. Find out why it isn’t opening,” he said. “God, that’s embarrassing.” He shrugged and turned on

Continue reading

Spider by Meg Pokrass

There’s a spider in the bathroom, I tell him. It’s six feet tall, I say. I wake him up and tell him to save me. I pee a few times a night and can’t imagine slipping into the cold bathroom alone, facing this spider head-on. It’s frigid here in Siberia. Outside, nothing can live for

Continue reading

Margaret Thatcher by Meg Pokrass

The kinds of things he says about his wife. The way he describes her smile. “Actually, you know who she reminds me of the most?” ”Nope, who,” I say. “She reminds me of Margaret Thatcher, the Meryl Streep version,” he says. He laughs. I laugh. We laugh and sometimes I cry. He holds me and

Continue reading

Jesus of Portland, Oregon by Meg Pokrass

1. He reads labels. Even perfume labels. Rides the double-decker buses so he can watch from above. I poke at the halo around his shorts with my   wayward finger. “You have strange ideas, Mary-of-the mushroom-teas,” he says, mussing up my hair, not noticing the finger, like, at all. 2. His eyes dilate when he

Continue reading