Martha King
Conversion in Connecticut
By Martha KingIt was only eleven in the morning, and it was a school day, but there were groups of high school kids at the bay beach. With cans of beer, with tape decks and car radios turned up loud; with pimples on their mouths, and expensive cars, and the drifting intermittent scent of reefer.
Wanna hear my story?
By Martha KingI come from a long line of bourgeois Americans. All the men were lawyers, landowners, or clergymen. One great uncle was a congressman. All the women were ladies.
Six Fables…
By Martha KingA writer spins plots in the most condensed forms possible. they are stripped of description and comment; they simply outline a sequence of exchanges. she gradually looses the ability to make herself write them out as stories.
Flap and Bugs Go Dancing
By Martha KingMy eyeglasses keep getting out of line and I go back to the shop where the man bends them and fidgets with the nose pads and they’re fine for a while, until they go out again.
