Fiction Friday — When her phone rang at 3:33 a.m., she jerked upright and answered. “You picked up on the first ring.” The young woman’s voice drawled soft, unabashed marveling. It wasn’t as if she were sleeping. Sleep was too dangerous. …

What they got was even better — On Sundays in Lambert Township, Congers Street restaurants take it easy. Naturally, they want to uphold their reputation as the ultimate in destination dining. However, they also need to take a break from the night before. Their town’s Saturday nights challenge even the most accomplished to thrive and survive. …

We lose our way — The tiny house in front garden of hobbit house Is promise of magic wilder, stranger, truer, Astounding traveler with keen vision Into possibilities they can’t wait to live. Hill dwelling folk toast homemade slices Of bread hard won with till, tend, harvest. …

Her heart says maybe this time… — “Daria, what are you doing in there?” Kylie pulled back the dressing room curtain, stared at her best friend. Daria swished the skirt of the red dress side to side, hypnotic metronome. “Daria! Come on!” Kylie squeezed Daria’s shoulder. Daria startled, blinked at her reflection. “Oh, sorry. I’ll be right…

I’m the star, but happy to play along — Skipping will not be interrupted — not entirely at least. …

Being invisible does not silence — Quiet dawn slipped suggestion of change Into night’s unfeeling, breath-stealing mysterious, Merest sliver of ethereal rose shattered dome Of indifferent pine needle stabs, piercing cries, Magical, terrible things that go bump in the night. Dream drenched traveler wakes to yellow sheets Layered on coral, peach, and strands Streaking horizon’s rim, places unseen…

Use your real voice — Alice draped the rayon dress over her arm, and spread its flowing skirt. Gillian stroked the fabric. “This is the one, Mom.” Jess’s lips compressed. “It’s not right. Unforgiving — it will show every bump and …” “I love it.” Gillian’s fingers curled into fists. Her young protest was smothered…

She imagined I was angry — I had no good answer When polite chatter about books Turned to how my story is doing. If I’d been smart and prepared, my glib-shrug-redirect conversation Would have protected me From mired, tangled rats nest Abandoned to be with friends Who know my earnest core, But rarely see raging anguish Over stammers, stutters, and fails…

Thank you for being — Table glows its fresh-oiled welcome, Silver and ivory plates anticipate Holiday feast at table surrounded By beloveds talking over one another Following toast to the ones we lost Over a confounding, baffling year. We will not dwell upon the way He fed the dog from the carving board Or the way…