A native of Brooklyn, Sheila Meltzer earned a PhD in linguistics from the CUNY Graduate Center, turned, and ran. She’s tried life in New Orleans, rural Vermont, and Catalan Spain. She now lives in Berkeley, hunts software bugs for a living, and dances, for joy. In weekly writing workshops she’s begun coaxing out a life’s worth of buried treasure. Her loot has appeared or will soon be revealed in The Citron Review, Lowestoft Chronicle, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, and rkvry.
I’d been thinking about leaving. I’d been thinking how there’s something about out here. Before long it’s a new January and you’re hungover with a heartache for a man you won’t see for several years until he pops up on that very popular, critically-acclaimed sitcom with that actress you learned to like, then hate, then feign indifference abou
The leak in your breathing/ tube makes a cartoon squeak./ It takes two nurses, silent/ as nuns, to place you/ in my arms...
If I have already/ gone insane/ but I want to get/ crazier yet,/ what’s my move?/ Go outsane?
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