Sondra Sula's Page

She stared at the dried toad lily petals that had fallen onto the formica desk. The thick, mahogany door was shut, but that didn't stop it. Blood, dark and syrupy, pooling in under the crack. She began to weep. Instead of wet droplets, tiny ants crawled from her tear ducts. She wondered, am I already dead?

Pale yellow prairie grass undulates over pure white snow. A robin's-egg blue horizon melds upwards to lavender. A dozen pheasants scatter, frightened by the broken silence, wings arching away. Golden sun and purple twilight catch on their moving feathers. Lone buttes rise and fall slowly as we pass. The emptiness whispers siren-like into my ears.

A priest, a rabbi and an insurance salesman consecutively walked into a bar. They stood together as saxophone music wailed in the background. "Always hits me right in the groin," the salesman joked, holding his two briefcases in the air, one on each hand. "I know," the priest said, "it's as if they planned it to be that height on purpose." When the subway arrived the rabbi held the doors open until they were all safely inside the car. "Thanks," the salesman and priest said in unison and settled… Continue

They flanked her, breathing metallic, red-tinged flames from their lips onto her neck and down her bare shoulders. Wings sprouted from their strong, muscular golden backs like multicolored jewels. They were her protectors, and their fire sealed her from harm. She could only see them indirectly, at the very periphery of her vision. But she knew they were there. Always.

Is it possible to be in love with a wheel of cheese? Even if it is brie, laced in raspberry jam, and scattered with walnuts? Would someone whittle away at their lover with a knife? Perhaps. Indeed. Oh, Brie, come rest upon my pink tongue, visit my lonely molars, dive down my cavernous throat and find your way into my eager, empty stomach.