He waited in the field for the Yellow Cab, conversing with men in 
overalls. He carried a pail of avocados, almost black, and gave one to 
each. The absence of streets and traffic lights was insignificant. 
Looking up just in time, he saw a kit of wild city pigeons, the sun 
brightening their feathers—morphs of rainbow. Rusty-red, white and 
pied-blue. He watched them stream through the rays and listened for the 
sound of tires.
first published in Camroc Press Review 2012
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2025 FlashFlood: The Complete List
In case you missed any of the pieces we appeared during the 2025 FlashFlood, here's an index to everything. Sadly, the 'Blog Archiv...
- 
Huge congratulations to FlashFlood's 2024 nominees for the following awards. We wish them well in the selection process! Best of the ...
- 
In case you missed any of the pieces we appeared during the 2025 FlashFlood, here's an index to everything. Sadly, the 'Blog Archiv...
- 
I know it is Sunday morning because the paper lands on the driveway with a louder thud, masala chai whispers underneath the door, and the so...
 
Lovely... loved the images your words created
ReplyDeletethanks so much, susmita.
ReplyDelete