Here is the hand that dealt the blow that ended the marriage that made the baby that cried all night that ate the sun and abused the moon and shanked the stars that gave the light to the darkest woods where the woman crept when filled with grief and dug the hole that housed the heart that evacuated the chest that breathed so shallow that she appeared quite dead and stirred so little that the bird in the cage cracked a seed that lay on the paper from the day she left him and changed the locks and shredded his clothes and drained his wine bottles and cursed his name and felt his child kick her ribs and press on her pelvis as he rode the bus that crossed the city so full of bridges that the fish below bubbled answers to the questions she had about the man she loved who dropped her cold upon the floor and kicked the shards under the table that shook when the garage door opened.
-- James Claffey hails from County Westmeath, Ireland, and lives on an avocado ranch in Carpinteria, CA, with his wife, the writer and artist, Maureen Foley, their daughter, Maisie, and Australian cattle-dog, Rua. His work appears in many places, including The New Orleans Review, Elimae,Connotation Press, Blue Fifth Review, and Word Riot. His website is at www.jamesclaffey. com.