a poem! from a. a.!
Look out the Blokus Window with Alexandra Reinecke.
Some Internecine Conflict. Destructive to both.
“When afternoon was sputtering out in fallen leaves, in scarves pulled out of briefcases and in new beverages purchased by those more dependent on the black coffee sold in the little shop downtown…”
A.A. Reinecke’s latest fiction piece, on September and garages.
A.A. Reinecke’s latest flash fiction piece.
“You get old and older and you turn wood eventually, in death. There is no Resurrection or Redemption—none of it.”
“She’d have a gin and tonic and stare into the carpet as though she’d found God in it.”
Alexandra lulls us back into flash fiction.
I read somewhere that “when the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filing the cracks with gold. They believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful.” This is what I was reminded of when my best friend, who is half Japanese, half white, acquired bruises on her knees from falling against the tennis court clay. Whenever she says hafu to speak of her split-heritage, I think of the two sides of those Vermont half-moon cookies, but I like what I read better than my more often thought over simile. I like this idea of her, this idea of there being, in fracture of the two cultures, in that space of incompleteness, a different sort of value. I often ask her about her father’s New England heritage, this half of the cookie that is maybe a recollected Massachusetts, Connecticut, Vermont, a passage lifted a winter climate, because there is something glamorous to me about it, something handsome in a simple, wholesome way, though in having heard …