Tag Archives: Monica Flegg

It turned out pet sitting iguanas wasn’t for her, and this particular iguana didn’t make it any easier. His name was Michael, and he perched atop the curtain rod above the slider door she had to enter, making every entrance a spit showered death wish. Coaxing him into his cage by prodding him with a […]

At first, we closed only the screen door which allowed air, breath and feelings to sift through. My heart was root bound. Shoots slid under the screen, across the mossy threshold—stretching back to you. The storm door needed to be closed. We shut it slowly like an ice cube watering an orchid. I turned the […]

I wrote a poem about miscarrying my first child in Las Vegas, and an editor emailed me that the lines were too concrete. Should her womb be emptied and refilled with sorrow would she write in pencil? Would she be satisfied to hold a dust mite? Would she grasp at gossamer webs, or would she, […]