Flash Fiction

All my life I’ve dreamt of gods.

When I touch the girl’s hair, she crosses her arms over her head and becomes a small, obstreperous siren.

After my father remarried, I became angry.

A friend called and asked if I could help him remove a rack from a pickup truck a widow wanted to give to her grandson.

Children play on street corners until the lights grow dim and the stars are visible like pinpricks on a bulletin board.