Grandma looks bewildered, like a child who’s been tricked. I’ve seen this look on her face before. In the hospital, mostly in the evening. The physical therapist told me not to worry. “It happens with stroke patients. We call it sundowning. They get confused. Expect her to have good days and bad. Expect her to cry and be moody. Don’t be alarmed at outbursts, accusations.” I’ve never feared for anything until now.
Category: Women’s fiction
Long Distance, a short story by Joan Spilman
We were a couple. Nobody on the floor but us. This went on for, oh, I don’t know how long. He even begged me to go away with him.
In Love, a short story by Joan Spilman
Who is this poor man, so tired, so broken? Slowly, she recognizes Bart. She can only guess at his suffering, his contained hours of grief. He is in love.
In Love, a short story by Joan Spilman
“You can’t be around a man five minutes without turning it on. I’ve watched you.” Mildred’s words were venom. “You’re sad, Susan, sad. Batting your eyes, sticking your boobs out. Pulling down your mouth like Marilyn Monroe.”
In Love, a short story by Joan Spilman
It’s Led Zeppelin,” Mildred tells her. “From the eighties, can you imagine? Whole Lotta Love, day after day. She’s only fifteen.”
Sugarpool, an Appalachian Novel
I ran into the church and had never been met with a more peaceful atmosphere in my life. None of the foulness that I’d had a whiff of this afternoon could ever enter here.
Light Moves, a short story
Marsha was dreaming and in her dream she was a girl again and begin cheated out of all the money in her piggybank. Cheated, not robbed for in place of the multitude of nickels, the polished quarters, the flood of dimes, were pennies, dirty pennies, raining down upon her, falling through the belly of a spotted sky.
Joan Spilman 