Author: bacrisp

RED BIRD

     Red Bird visits her again—the same red bird she remembered guarding her passage through the womb and the same red bird that appeared to her as a child when hands of evil sometimes covered her. Those days are gone, she thinks. Yet the sweat soaking her sleep shirt says otherwise.      They claim she […]

NIMBU

     A golden orange sun melts behind the plains of Africa as we sit before a fire Nimbu has prepared. Cinnamon, cloves and coriander simmer our lamb sacrifice into tender acquiescence, softly bubbling in a worn black cauldron, like an offering placed before heaven’s dusky cluster of stars.      Tomorrow we reach the Wadi Sora […]

Daisy & the “Regulars”

     Daisy loves the coffee shop. She walks a few steps, wobbling on summer heels as she balances a steamy, teeny porcelain cup of overpriced espresso, even though she prefers cheap black coffee from her favorite chipped mug at home.        When the “Regulars” go to “their” table to discuss important things like trendy […]

All That Glitters

       “Take that one,” Evelyn orders.       “Which one?” I ask.       “The one in the case next to the woman wearing the blue scarf.”       “Why that one? It’s the most expensive one in the store and it’s one-of-a-kind. It’s too risky.”       “It isn’t if you have the right attitude,” she answers. “I […]

Eido & The Master

The  Master & The Student By B.A. Crisp The Master lifts the hem of his orange robes as plush green grass cushions his aching feet. Ah, so soft, he thinks. He makes his way toward Eido, who stands ankle deep in the river, smiling brightly enough to please the sun. Oh, how the Master wished he […]

A DEPUTY’S ROAD HOME

Inspired by a true story      From his seat Dan watched the other deputies and waited for briefing to end. It had been a long night of police calls in Immokalee—a sixteen-hour swing shift of domestic disputes, drunkards, and drug dealing. This landlocked town, tucked miles from opportunity, among Florida’s mangroves and muck, languished on […]

I Have a Crush. It’s Not my Husband. I Blame #TheWeek

I’ll admit it. I have a problem. The Week. It’s the “Best of U.S. and International Media” that arrives at our office, compliments of a colleague. Once I spy a copy, I disappear into the comfort of my favorite coffee shop and devour its contents, savoring each morsel of news as if it were fine chocolate—or a forbidden Playboy. Yes, The Week, is that good!