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Tip Me Over and Pour Me Out

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First poem of 2021!!  This was written for the Anything Goes in 2021  daily writing project and was inspired by Kate's suggestions of chamomile and whiskey. ___________________ More info about Anything Goes in 2021   here  / subscribe to the blog  here . Virtual Tip Jar: Venmo @sarahwolfstar

Blackout

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Carmen sat on the beige carpet in her friend Mindy's apartment and kept her eyes fixed on the wine cork balanced nearby.  It had a star emblazoned on it.  The wine from the bottle sat low in her glass while Mindy kept talking from her seat on the couch. "I always thought he was an asshole," she was saying while a third friend -- Gloria -- nodded from one seat over. Carmen tilted the wine glass back against her lips and let the liquid pour down her throat.  She was sure it had a taste but all she wanted was the feel.  "I'm not sure you being right in this moment is really that helpful," she said. Mindy shifted uncomfortably as she glanced sideways at Gloria.  "Of course.  I just mean that I love  you  and that's what's important," she said. "Thanks," Carmen said, her eyes still lingering on that cork. "This apartment is nice," Gloria said, clearing her throat as if that would evaporate the tension. "It's cute,&qu

Number 3,654

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January 1st's reader question:  "Resolutions: do you make them?  Are they helpful?" - Rebecca January 1st's genre:  nonfiction I want to be very clear about this: I think New Year's Resolutions are sort of hokey and  maybe  a waste of time,  in general .  They always seems to be things like get in shape or lose weight or be more organized -- potentially habitual things or cosmetic things that have fallen by the wayside.  My thing, though, is if that were really important to you, wouldn't you already be doing it?  There might be other reasons why your eating habits aren't necessarily the healthiest or your body isn't as toned as you dream it could be or you can't keep your workspace orderly.  And even if you can identify what those broader issues might be, why would you need to start working on that on January 1st when really a day by any other name would smell as sweet? However. I have a New Year's Resolution to write every single day, somethin

"Dead in an Hour" read by author Sarah Wolf

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"Dead in an Hour" is a short story from my collection Say You'll Love Me...And Other One Acts  (2020), available at wolfstarpress.com .

Fathering

  Fathering Jack wasn’t sure he’d made the right decision letting his son Andy choose to live with him after the divorce.  It’s not that the kid was too much of a hassle or anything; Jack loved his son.  They were good buddies.  They played video games together and went on camping trips and concocted all sorts of strange casseroles involving corn chips and cheese.  That was the problem, really.  Jack wasn’t sure he was much of a father.  He wasn’t sure he’d done anything right. It was his day off from DeLuca’s.  He was the deli manager, in line for a promotion to store manager, just as soon as the big wigs realized the current manager, a twenty-six year old gap-toothed red haired man named Toby, what a name, wasn’t exactly working as much as his time card suggested.  Jack had worked at DeLuca’s since he was sixteen years old and he liked it well enough.  It wasn’t the best paying job in the world, or the most glamorous, but it was good enough to put food on the table for his son.  Jack

Drunk History

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Listen to me read the most popular post of 2020

Colonel Aureliano Buendia

LISTEN to me read the poem here. Colonel Aureliano Buendía                                                           after "Ulysses" by Lord Alfred Tennyson   It baffles the mind that an idle colonel, In this dark laboratory, among flasks and Bunsen burners sits, Matched with solitude, I melt and mold Tiny gold fishes for a savage race, That lies and brutalizes and scoffs and knows not me. I cannot bare to travel:  I will drink The solemn cup of defeat:  few times I have enjoyed I have suffered immeasurably, both with those That followed me and on my own; in swamps, and Over mountains backed up to wild jungles Thwarted by Conservatives, by my own pride:  They named a street after me; For fighting in countless numbers of battles and never winning I’ve scoured the world, cities of cesspools And starch collared butchers, Myself, wrapped in a cloak, separate from them all; And the horrible reality of unrelenting battle, Far from Macondo, far from myself. I am removed from