Susan Maciolek

Lipstick

Tilting her head back, my mother peers into the bathroom mirror and puts on her lipstick in three deft moves – quick strokes left and right for the bow and a sweep across the bottom lip to finish. She tears off a single square of toilet paper and folds it in half to blot her …

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 Contraband

The sky was a deep, inky blue studded with stars. There was no moon, so no moonlight, which was all to the good. I had business to take care of, best conducted under cover of darkness.  I loaded up the trunk of the car with the goods. My Honda Civic was what they called “reliable …

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Crayon

On a hot Sunday afternoon in July my father is out in the backyard listening to a baseball game on the radio. The announcer’s voice drones in the thick summer air, punctuated by the occasional crack of a bat amidst the relentless din of the crowd in the bleachers. If the White Sox win, it …

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Dirge

Late November – gray, cold, grim. The radio blared Christmas music between bulletins about a fire at a grade school. A report on the number of bodies, kids and nuns who died in the fire, was followed by “The Chipmunk Song.” That silly novelty tune suddenly seemed like a dirge. Published in Blink Ink, 2011 …

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