Author: pologo

The man in the Royals cap held the sunflower plate up to the light, between his thumb and forefinger, as if he were checking a bill for forgery. He was …

The Bluebird Pitcher Read More

I stood up from my lawn chair. My back cracked like a dry branch. The man in the Orvis vest was holding the pintail so carefully that you would have …

The Wooden Ducks Read More

I came down the porch steps, one hand on the rail, and took the rug from her arms. It was the red lightning pattern, the one my grandmother used to …

The Red Lightning Read More

I rose from my folding chair, which took some doing, and took the painting from her hands. It was the Owasco Lake, in fog, the one I had painted the …

The Owasco Fog Read More

“I mean the lake, son,” I said, and I set the old brass dock key on the teak table, beside the champagne bucket. “We are on my signature. Anywhere we …

The Galley Drawer Read More

“I know a forged letterhead when I see one, Craig,” I said, and I held the letter from the doctor up to the window so the afternoon light came through …

The Fake Letterhead Read More

“Yes, Lisa, I am his mother,” I said, “and I have never lived in Arizona in my life.” I took the old plum crate out of the hands of her …

The Plum Crate Read More

“I know, son,” I said, and I laid the pruning shears across the white tablecloth, the old ones with the wooden handles worn pale by fifty years of my hands. …

The Pruning Shears Read More

“Doug, I am sitting right here,” I said, from my wheelchair, in the center aisle of First Methodist, and the words went out over the pews like a stone dropped …

The Printed Obituary Read More

“Mr. Whitfield, those ribs are not his,” I said, and I laid my hand flat on the business plan. “They belong to a man named Clarence Duval. He made them …

The Rusted Smoker Read More