Misty Urban

A collection of poems and stories inspired by Roswell, New Mexico.

I didn’t realize what was happening until the dough hook went through my finger.

My daughter’s in the backseat as we drive to zoo camp and since she’s old enough now I switch Pandora to my station and the Indigo Girls start belting out “Galileo” and not in another lifetime but in this one, right now, I’m in college, freshman year, sitting in Kelly’s dorm room with the blinds drawn and the lava lamp bubbling.

As she grasped her hand along the wooden rail of the stairs Manya felt a hard, dry splinter pierce her palm. She tugged at the projecting end and it broke, leaving a dark needle tucked beneath her skin.