1 Hunter’s in the bath. Linda’s sweeping the floor around the edge of the door. "Hunter, I wish you would put your own clothes away." Hunter eases himself down under the bath, his ears fill with water, his long hair floats out at right angles a halo of red hair. He watches the bubbles now at eye level.
Lenore was killed by an accidental bullet. She walked right into the woods. Her thighs were heavy. Her red peddle pushers disappeared like two little flags between the trees.
It is good to see you, Isabella says, hugging me and taking away my suitcase. I follow her to the taxi as she walks lopsided, struggling with the big bag. It has wheels on it, I holler, but she doesnt stop. She probably doesnt understand the English word wheels. The driver runs up to help her.
Barbara Henning is the author of several collections of poetry, her most recent A Day Like Today (Negative Capability Press 2015). Recent others include A Swift Passage (Quale Press), Cities and Memory (Chax Press) and a collection of object-sonnets, My Autobiography (United Artists). She has published three novels, Thirty Miles to Rosebud, You Me and the Insects and Black Lace, and she is the editor of Looking Up Harryette Mullen and The Collected Prose of Bobbie Louise Hawkins. Born in Detroit, Barbara now lives in Brooklyn and teaches for Long Island University, as well as writers.com. http://barbarahenning.com
Barbara Henning is the author of three novels and nine books of poetry, her most recent collectiond of poetry and prose, A Swift Passage (Quale Press 2013) and Cities and Memory (Chax Press 2010). Born in Detroit, she has lived in New York City since 1983. As a long-time yoga practitioner, she brings this knowledge and discipline to her writing and her teaching at Naropa University, writers.com and Long Island University in Brooklyn, where she is Professor Emerita.