A LITERARY COLLECTION FROM VERMONT WRITERS

It scared the shit out of me, the thought of running my fingers across the crass abs of those Greek gods straight out of 1970, with their pornstaches and tight pants, so much that I backed away, Not me I thought, let someone else be the guinea pig. Oh, come on, the jackass called, the one with the tattoo, come on, dive in, the water’s fine. Indeed, if you looked past all that simmering man flesh, the sea was cobalt, blue as barren balls. The other jackass, the quiet on

They gathered at the house almost three months after their father's death. Nobody had expected the suicide, even though mother had been moved to a nursing home last year and he'd become more dour and silent than usual. One Thursday morning he’d trudged down the steps to the basement, spread out a sheet of plastic in a last bit of housekeeping fervor, and shot himself in the head. David had discovered the body during his daily visit. The house sat empty since then, but Shay

Lily Blanc sat at a small round table at a favorite coffee shop, waiting for her “friend, Alyssa. Like so many others in the popular, cozy place, she whiled away the time scrolling through her cell phone apps. As she focused on an appealing New York Times puzzle, two women walked by juggling their designer coffees, sweet treats and over-sized personal bags toward the table behind her. The women seemed to be friends who hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks and were now catchi