Short Fiction and Poetry

I am the watcher of the space between the ground and rocks you step on, the feeling you get when in the woods [...]

I awake alone in bed, but with the overwhelming sensation of a presence. Not exactly like being watched. More like a listener [...]

“Write me a story. And start it here.” The middle-aged brunette who’d been sitting at the end of the bar slid into the seat next to mine[..]

The clock hands orchestrate the change in us all, like a conductor waving his baton

Baxter House Editions proudly presents Things My Mother Left Behind by Susan Richardson!

You are four thousand feet above sea level and climbing, and breathing in light, mountain air [...]

The people who make your water filters (y’know, the kind that goes under your counter, in the long, blue tube) were pretty unhappy. [...]

I took my kindness to the river and held it under: Felt the flesh of its neck beneath my fingers As it expired [...]

i wish to origami myself into a paper butterfly– smaller, smaller–until i can fit inside the gaps between your ribs

My foot throbbing, unable to walk, I lay on a cot in Emergency.  The light was too dim to read.  I closed my eyes.