“There were still pockets of land that the city had forgotten to inhabit, where trees still met overhead and creeks still scoured upended flagstones of granite. Little pockets of land, where English ivy ran riot, where something lived in the hole halfway up the clay bank. Little pockets of land, evidence the city had forfeited its right to actually be a city. The real city was somewhere else, a place where people were waiting for trains that never came, for loved ones who, they began to realize as the day unfolded, would never arrive home.”
My story “Bunting” has just gone live on/in Bracken Magazine, a lovely publication whose mission is to publish poetry, fiction, and art born of the love of the woods and its shadows.
“Bunting” is an odd weaving of 9/11, motherhood, and an imaginary ur-Atlanta, that even with its references to CDs and landlines might be weirdly apropos to this particular moment, too.