All Posts By Nan Byrne

On Chapin Street

We sat bare assed and wetting our hunger condensing. In a cloud of Jack Daniels you dealt a final round. Drawing each card slowly from the...

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Beauty is a death camp. The promise of pain. The last door that you close when you flee a fire. Beauty is a war. The broken heel. The sound...

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An Accident of Love

Once when I was young, I read a story in the newspaper. A man had gone on a picnic with his wife and children. They spent the day by the...

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