Lay your head down to sleep with word for word transcripts of murder trials still ringing in your ears. One thousand stories from neighbors of lawless men. Their mouths open like baby blackbirds spewing out ink, instead of tiny songs, a river into the corridors of the dead. Sit down for cups of black tea without milk or sugar cubes, and someone might spill their guts. Reveal the location of the grand- children, now living by the dark harbors of Florida, avoiding Cubans, sharing Christmas dinners, no mention of court cases, criminal charges, black and white mug shots like school photos, a new one every year. Someone’s niece will tell you the entire truth if you gift her with black diamonds, panther skin rugs, a chapter in your book. She’s poised and reinvented, gathering canned food for mothers and wives who fled the crime scene with all their possessions, carried like wounded children, on their tired backs.
Although she received her MFA in Creative Writing more than 25 years ago, Beth Gordon can best be described as an emerging writer. She is the proud mother of three creative human beings, Matt, Alex and Elise, who fill her world with art and music. Beth resides in St. Louis, Missouri and spends most weekends in the company of fellow writers, musicians, wine drinkers, and two dogs named Izzie and Max.
