Her needle name

Roadside stranded, he keeps the need for her in his teeth. Smokes out an hour of shakes as the rearview clouds. Then comes the darkness the animals know. They open mouths to his cause. And every tongue like a spurring drum brings snips, hics, and snivers to knee him down a thistle bank. On and into blood trails, he hunches, snorts cold grass of animal bed for spines, for pushing on, for laying down under pines so white the moon can't help but clean, every little needle from her name.

Return to the Summer Fiction index.

Scroll to read more Arts Stories & Interviews articles
Join the Metro Times Press Club

Local journalism is information. Information is power. And we believe everyone deserves access to accurate independent coverage of their community and state.
Help us keep this coverage going with a one-time donation or an ongoing membership pledge.


Join Detroit Metro Times Newsletters

Subscribe now to get the latest news delivered right to your inbox.