Anne Elizabeth Weisgerber

Writer, Editor, Teacher

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“Bankers were spreadsheet squirrels, coders squirreled away data.”

He shifts his head upright and says, “Take my hand.” It is cold, rubbery like the fingers have no bones.

Who had made the sheets so smooth and white and neat?

What’s the song? I was out of my mind on a rack of pain and thought ‘is there a God?’

I remember the old deck of cards, there were only forty-seven, how we played war and slap-jacked those cards, their clay-coated smoothness.

She fluttered out of the pages, “as a sudden wave dissolves the sand-built turrets of children,” she was sure.

Chuck meditated as code lines bricked up his screen, he heard the router stabilize as the coffeemaker hoofed to a stop.

story hunter, author, and keeper of imaginary beasts

Home of Author, Delia Remington

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