Your Impossible Voice
May 8, 2023

Since The Moon Went Away

By Kathryn Silver-Hajo
Photo by Ánh Đặng on Pexels.com

When Corinne feels on top of her game, she’s a tangerine-stripe cat strutting around the neighborhood, taking in the scents. But today she’s a Shiba, body curled tight, snout tucked into furred dreams. She yawns, stretches, howls at the rain until clouds part and the Flower Moon blossoms full.

About the Author

Kathryn Silver-HajoKathryn Silver-Hajo is a 2023 Pushcart Prize, Best Small Fictions, and Best American Food Writing nominee. Her stories appear or are forthcoming in Atticus Review, The Citron Review, CRAFT, Emerge Literary Journal, New Flash Fiction Review, Pithead Chapel, Ruby Literary, and others. Kathryn’s flash collection Wolfsong and novel Roots of The Banyan Tree are forthcoming in 2023. She reads for Fractured Lit. More at: kathrynsilverhajo.com; twitter.com/KSilverHajo; instagram.com/kathrynsilverhajo

Related Flash
Woman in silhouette near the Taj Mahal

Once in our home in Agra, the monsoon was over

By Tara Isabel Zambrano

“we took off our PJs, and became the afternoon—our earlobes and neck, our limbs and nails turning pink from the syringe of the sun, asphalt gritting our feet, downstairs our mothers calling our names circled red with curses…”

Read More
Empty Hospital Bed

She Never Sees Her Mother

By Annette Gulati

“She never sees her ailing mother. She only listens to her on the telephone, rattling on about the dialysis treatments, the trips to the emergency room, the stabbing pain in her abdomen. Likely the cancer.”

Read More
Tidepools rocky ocean coastline

Tidepool Sestina

By Tiff M. Z. Lee

“When the tide is low, it reminds me of our honeymoon—holding hands as we balance on rocky islands emerging from the sea, hair wavy with salt spray, feeling lucky to be here.”

Read More

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This