Author: April Pickle

When I was in the eleventh grade, the KKK held a parade, and I watched as it went by. This was 1987, and the town was Texarkana. There

Jacob dreamed of a ladder that stretched from earth to heaven. I’ve been dreaming of a spiral staircase that goes from the main floor to the attic. Years

“Do yourself a favor and take two Advil before you get there,” a friend said. And I laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. Sometimes I laugh to keep

Puddles don’t form when I water the rose bushes. The stream runs straight down. I take a walk, stepping over cracks, some of them as wide as my