Leslie Staven
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Stories (20)
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Bloodbath in Suburbia
The year was 1969, and I was a doting housewife and mother of three. As usual, I had been running a little behind schedule. Not that I’d forgotten about the trip to San Francisco; I just wasn’t ready. There were appointments to keep, suitcases to pack, volumes of notes to write for the sitter, and grocery shopping to be done. God knows no respectable mother would leave town without stocking enough food to last, even if there was an earthquake or missile crisis.
By Leslie Staven10 months ago in Humor
The Wish
I wonder when I’ll know me again. Everyone around seems to know me. I feel scattered. I feel adrift. I feel unmoored. I feel unfamiliar, though I’m familiar with all that is around me. All these people around me are sailing in their little boats, moving swiftly through the river of their days as if everything is the same, but nothing is the same. I watched my capsized boat descend into the depths of something dark that I didn’t recognize, and now I am trying to move forward in chest-deep mud flowing in the opposite direction of my course. Their lives move on and forward, but mine has stopped and moving in any direction, especially where I perceive forward to be, is pushing against this unknown mud leaving me immobilized.
By Leslie Stavenabout a year ago in Poets
Solitude
Solitude ignites listening. Eliminating noise, cries escape.
By Leslie Stavenabout a year ago in Poets
Seen. Top Story - September 2024.
I was sitting there on the step, and she drove up in a big, dusty, red truck. I was surprised when she stepped down and walked right toward me, without even a little hesitation. She didn't look away like most folks -- not even the "look-away" thing they do like they are checking their purse or pocket, or like they see something in the other direction. No, she looked right at me, and smiled, saying "Hello!" like I was someone she knew.
By Leslie Stavenabout a year ago in Psyche
