Pencil Shavings: Greetings

Daisy felt the familiar brush of her hand against Jerry’s as he let the cat out through the screened flap, his keys jingling.
[Kim MacCormack, Dover, MA]

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A touch of straight knuckles to the brow and removed.
[Laura Wanamaker, Chatham, MA]

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A storm: a star-scruff black boy threshes with thunder
and up-gathers our voices, though we don’t call to one another.
[Evan McWilliams, Scottsdale, AZ]

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His breath was of vinegar and morning, and when someone’s breath is of vinegar and morning, you study his oral cavity—the white sheath of salt on the tongue, the bars of saliva like a mouth guard—rather than listen to what the cavity is saying.
[Kevin Hong, Needham, MA]

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Greetings: a lost art form that laid its head down and died upon the coming of Internet dialogue.
[Fabrizio Ciccone, Plano, TX]

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