Yellow Mama Archives

Cheryl Ann Gardner
Adhikari, Sudeep
Ahern, Edward
Aldrich, Janet M.
Allan, T. N.
Allen, M. G.
Ammonds, Phillip J.
Anderson, Peter
Andreopoulos, Elliott
Arab, Bint
Augustyn, P. K.
Aymar, E. A.
Babbs, James
Baber, Bill
Bagwell, Dennis
Bailey, Ashley
Baird, Meg
Bakala, Brendan
Baker, Nathan
Balaz, Joe
Barber, Shannon
Barker, Tom
Barlow, Tom
Bates, Jack
Bayly, Karen
Baugh, Darlene
Bauman, Michael
Baumgartner, Jessica Marie
Beale, Jonathan
Beck, George
Beckman, Paul
Benet, Esme
Bennett, Brett
Bennett, Charlie
Bennett, D. V.
Berg, Carly
Berman, Daniel
Bernardara, Will Jr.
Berriozabal, Luis
Beveridge, Robert
Bickerstaff, Russ
Bigney, Tyler
Bladon, Henry
Blake, Steven
Bohem, Charlie Keys and Les
Booth, Brenton
Boski, David
Bougger, Jason
Boyd, A. V.
Boyd, Morgan
Bracey, DG
Brewka-Clark, Nancy
Britt, Alan
Brooke, j
Brown, R. Thomas
Brown, Sam
Burton, Michael
Bushtalov, Denis
Butcher, Jonathan
Butkowski, Jason
Butler, Simon Hardy
Cameron, W. B.
Campbell, J. J.
Campbell, Jack Jr.
Cano, Valentina
Cardinale, Samuel
Carlton, Bob
Carr, Jennifer
Cartwright, Steve
Carver, Marc
Castle, Chris
Catlin, Alan
Chesler, Adam
Clausen, Daniel
Clevenger, Victor
Clifton, Gary
Coffey, James
Colasuonno, Alfonso
Conley, Jen
Connor, Tod
Cooper, Malcolm Graham
Coral, Jay
Cosby, S. A.
Costello, Bruce
Cotton, Mark
Crandall, Rob
Criscuolo, Carla
Crist, Kenneth
D., Jack
Dallett, Cassandra
Danoski, Joseph V.
Daly, Sean
Davis, Christopher
Davis, Michael D.
Day, Holly
de Bruler, Connor
Degani, Gay
De France, Steve
De La Garza, Lela Marie
Deming, Ruth Z.
Demmer, Calvin
De Neve, M. A.
Dennehy, John W.
DeVeau, Spencer
Di Chellis, Peter
DiLorenzo, Ciro
Dionne, Ron
Dobson, Melissa
Domenichini, John
Dominelli, Rob
Doran, Phil
Doreski, William
Dorman, Roy
Doherty, Rachel
Dosser, Jeff
Doyle, John
Draime, Doug
Drake, Lena Judith
Dromey, John H.
Dubal, Paul Michael
Duke, Jason
Duncan, Gary
Dunham, T. Fox
Duschesneau, Pauline
Dunn, Robin Wyatt
Duxbury, Karen
Duy, Michelle
Eade, Kevin
Elliott, Garnett
Ellman, Neil
England, Kristina
Erianne, John
Espinosa, Maria
Esterholm, Jeff
Fallow, Jeff
Farren, Jim
Fenster, Timothy
Ferraro, Diana
Filas, Cameron
Fillion, Tom
Fisher, Miles Ryan
Flanagan, Daniel N.
Flanagan, Ryan Quinn
Francisco, Edward
Frank, Tim
Funk, Matthew C.
Gann, Alan
Gardner, Cheryl Ann
Garvey, Kevin Z.
Gay, Sharon Frame
Gentile, Angelo
Genz, Brian
Giersbach, Walter
Gladeview, Lawrence
Glass, Donald
Goddard, L. B.
Godwin, Richard
Goff, Christopher
Goss, Christopher
Gradowski, Janel
Graham, Sam
Grant, Christopher
Grant, Stewart
Greenberg, K.J. Hannah
Greenberg, Paul
Grey, John
Gunn, Johnny
Gurney, Kenneth P.
Haglund, Tobias
Halleck, Robert
Hamlin, Mason
Hanson, Christopher Kenneth
Hanson, Kip
Harrington, Jim
Harris, Bruce
Hart, GJ
Hartman, Michelle
Haskins, Chad
Hawley, Doug
Haycock, Brian
Hayes, A. J.
Hayes, John
Hayes, Peter W. J.
Heatley, Paul
Heimler, Heidi
Helmsley, Fiona
Hendry, Mark
Heslop, Karen
Heyns, Heather
Hilary, Sarah
Hill, Richard
Hivner, Christopher
Hockey, Matthew J.
Hogan, Andrew J.
Holderfield, Culley
Holton, Dave
Howells, Ann
Hoy, J. L.
Huchu, Tendai
Hudson, Rick
Huffman, A. J.
Huguenin, Timothy G.
Huskey, Jason L.
Irascible, Dr. I. M.
Jaggers, J. David
James, Christopher
Johnson, Beau
Johnson, Moctezuma
Johnson, Zakariah
Jones, D. S.
Jones, Erin J.
Jones, Mark
Kabel, Dana
Kaplan, Barry Jay
Kay, S.
Keaton, David James
Kempka, Hal
Kerins, Mike
Keshigian, Michael
Kevlock, Mark Joseph
King, Michelle Ann
Kirk, D.
Knott, Anthony
Koenig, Michael
Korpon, Nik
Kovacs, Norbert
Kovacs, Sandor
Kowalcyzk, Alec
Krafft, E. K.
Lacks, Lee Todd
Lang, Preston
Larkham, Jack
La Rosa, F. Michael
Leasure, Colt
Leatherwood, Roger
Lees, Arlette
Lees, Lonni
Leins, Tom
Lemieux, Michael
Lemming, Jennifer
Lerner, Steven M
Lewis, Cynthia Ruth
Lewis, LuAnn
Lifshin, Lyn
Liskey, Tom Darin
Lodge, Oliver
Lopez, Aurelio Rico III
Lorca, Aurelia
Lovisi, Gary
Lucas, Gregory E.
Lukas, Anthony
Lynch, Nulty
Lyon, Hillary
Lyons, Matthew
Mac, David
MacArthur, Jodi
Malone, Joe
Mann, Aiki
Manzolillo, Nicholas
Marcius, Cal
Marrotti, Michael
Mason, Wayne
Mattila, Matt
McAdams, Liz
McCartney, Chris
McDaris, Catfish
McFarlane, Adam Beau
McGinley, Chris
McGinley, Jerry
McElhiney, Sean
McKim, Marci
McMannus, Jack
McQuiston, Rick
Mellon, Mark
Memi, Samantha
Miles, Marietta
Miller, Max
Minihan, Jeremiah
Montagna, Mitchel
Monson, Mike
Mooney, Christopher P.
Moran, Jacqueline M.
Morgan, Bill W.
Moss, David Harry
Mullins, Ian
Mulvihill, Michael
Muslim, Kristine Ong
Nardolilli, Ben
Nelson, Trevor
Nessly, Ray
Nester, Steven
Neuda, M. C.
Newell, Ben
Newman, Paul
Nielsen, Ayaz
Nore, Abe
Numann, Randy
Ogurek, Douglas J.
O'Keefe, Sean
Ortiz, Sergio
Pagel, Briane
Park, Jon
Parr, Rodger
Parrish, Rhonda
Partin-Nielsen, Judith
Peralez, R.
Perez, Juan M.
Perez, Robert Aguon
Peterson, Ross
Petroziello, Brian
Pettie, Jack
Petyo, Robert
Phillips, Matt
Picher, Gabrielle
Pierce, Rob
Pietrzykowski, Marc
Plath, Rob
Pointer, David
Post, John
Powell, David
Power, Jed
Powers, M. P.
Praseth, Ram
Prusky, Steve
Pruitt, Eryk
Purfield, M. E.
Purkis, Gordon
Quinlan, Joseph R.
Quinn, Frank
Rabas, Kevin
Ram, Sri
Rapth, Sam
Ravindra, Rudy
Renney, Mark
reutter, g emil
Rhatigan, Chris
Richardson, Travis
Richey, John Lunar
Ridgeway, Kevin
Rihlmann, Brian
Ritchie, Bob
Ritchie, Salvadore
Robinson, John D.
Robinson, Kent
Rodgers, K. M.
Roger, Frank
Rose, Mandi
Rose, Mick
Rosenberger, Brian
Rosenblum, Mark
Rosmus, Cindy
Ruhlman, Walter
Rutherford, Scotch
Salinas, Alex
Sanders, Isabelle
Sanders, Sebnem
Santo, Heather
Savage, Jack
Sayles, Betty J.
Schauber, Karen
Schneeweiss, Jonathan
Schraeder, E. F.
Schumejda, Rebecca
See, Tom
Sethi, Sanjeev
Sexton, Rex
Seymour, J. E.
Shaikh, Aftab Yusuf
Sheagren, Gerald E.
Shepherd, Robert
Shirey, D. L.
Shore, Donald D.
Short, John
Sim, Anton
Simmler, T. Maxim
Simpson, Henry
Sinisi, J. J.
Sixsmith, JD
Slagle, Cutter
Slaviero, Susan
Sloan, Frank
Small, Alan Edward
Smith, Brian J.
Smith, Ben
Smith, C.R.J.
Smith, Copper
Smith, Greg
Smith, Paul
Smith, Stephanie
Smith, Willie
Smuts, Carolyn
Snethen, Daniel G.
Snoody, Elmore
Sojka, Carol
Solender, Michael J.
Sortwell, Pete
Sparling, George
Spicer, David
Squirrell, William
Stanton, Henry G.
Stewart, Michael S.
Stickel, Anne
Stolec, Trina
Stoll, Don
Stryker, Joseph H.
Stucchio, Chris
Succre, Ray
Sullivan, Thomas
Swanson, Peter
Swartz, Justin A.
Sweet, John
Tarbard, Grant
Taylor, J. M.
Thompson, John L.
Thompson, Phillip
Tillman, Stephen
Titus, Lori
Tivey, Lauren
Tobin, Tim
Torrence, Ron
Tu, Andy
Ullerich, Eric
Valent, Raymond A.
Valvis, James
Vilhotti, Jerry
Waldman, Dr. Mel
Walsh, Patricia
Walters, Luke
Ward, Emma
Washburn, Joseph
Watt, Max
Weber, R.O.
Weil, Lester L.
White, Judy Friedman
White, Robb
White, Terry
Wickham, Alice
Wilsky, Jim
Wilson, Robley
Wilson, Tabitha
Woodland, Francis
Young, Mark
Yuan, Changming
Zackel, Fred
Zafiro, Frank
Zapata, Angel
Zee, Carly
Zimmerman, Thomas

Parked Cars


By Cheryl Ann Gardner



When she met him, it was as if she'd stepped on a perfect piece of glass. Ground it into her heel and exhaled a breath of perfect pain. It was a mistake, her love for him. Bad geography. A desert. A lost highway set ablaze by a gasoline fire and bald tires. She'd used the nip-slip, caught him off guard, and so he pulled over.


"What's a freaky young thing like you doing way out here in Death Valley?" he asked, and she responded with a flick of her hair.


"So this is Death Valley, huh?" She popped her gum a few times and leaned her trussed-up cleavage in closer. "Where are all the bodies, then?"


He laughed with his shoulders, then pushed the passenger door open for her.


Regrettable, she thought, as she slid across the leather towards him. He had a pair of steel scissors hanging from the rearview mirror and the stink of cheap chardonnay on his breath.


"I like your tattoos," he said as he rattled the keys in the ignition, "And yes, I'm married. Do you care?"


She didn't.


She was a cutter, and she didn't care about anything unless it hurt her. Maybe he would. He had that look about him. The footnotes of existence had creased and leathered his face. She wanted to touch the lines, lick the salt from his lips.


"You're super cute," he said. Said she'd got swank, but his voice was rough and muddled, and she heard the word skank.


That's when she fell in love with him. He knew it too and guiltily stroked her leg into a budding rouge, exacting his pleasure from the small measures of skin he could imagine with his fingertips.

She let him.


She saw within his eyes the distillation of an unfinished masterpiece for years he had only envisioned in his mind. Nothing could separate her from him in that moment.


No, nothing ever would.


Their love would run together, and eventually, when it came, would trickle away with the rain.


She drove very far that afternoon. Far and Fast. His car was much faster than her old Pontiac piece of junk. She liked the wind in her hair too, and the way the fractured windscreen toyed with the lines on the road in the midday sun until the road was nothing more than an idea, a masterpiece of chaos, rippling in the desert heat.




Skinned Rabbits


by Cheryl Anne Gardner



She was a social climber, glamorous—a feminist in her own mind—and she loved the hunts out at the lake. She loved the eerie glow of the moonlight, the way it broke apart and came back together in the ripples of black water, and she loved the way a shotgun shell felt when palmed in her hand.


An opportunist, she smiled and said, “Yes” when I offered to buy her a drink. She was the only one sitting at the bar that night, and I fell in love with the way the cigarette smoke parted her lips when she drew out the sssss in yes. Her makeup was a little theatrical around the eyes, and she smelled a bit boozy and a little stale when she crossed her legs, but hanging around the likes of bars like these will do that to a person. Mattresses get stained. I should know. I had one in the back of my van, not for just such an occasion. I found myself homeless a lot. Not a crisis, and I never tried to hide behind anything or anybody. The blame fell square at my own two cowboy cake-coated feet. She’d have found me anyway.


I had trouble centering myself in the world. Took liberties, that sort of thing. I didn’t used to be, but now I am: a thief, a swindler, a panhandler planning to raid a dead woman’s womb, a live grenade in one hand, a roasted squirrel on a stick in the other. She didn’t know that though. She was too drunk, and I was wearing my good flannel.


“Whatcha got in the knapsack?” she asked, and I wasn’t really sure what to tell her. There was some bathroom tile from a public restroom, a couple unused rail tickets, the Shondells on compact disc, and a gray crayon. “Memories,” I suppose is what I thought I said loud enough to be heard over her curiosity and the jukebox.


“Shame,” she replied, “I was looking for porcelain. You know: a white rabbit, maybe. Something small . . . for my kid.”


“You got a kid?”


“Yes . . . Well, no. Sometimes. He likes rabbits.”


Run Rabbit Run, was all I kept thinking as her voice droned on and on and on.


She said she lived where the rocks were sharp and coyotes howled in the night. There were no rabbits. She said she had tried to paint them, once, so her kid could believe in them.


She looked too old for a kid, too used. She smiled again, went to push her crispy hair back behind her ear. She didn’t give it much thought when the strand she was playing with hit the tip of her cigarette and caught fire, curled up, and fell in small ashes on her collar, and I didn’t give it much thought when I noticed the lampblack on her knees and the matchbox full of fingernails, which she had labeled “divine” in red polish and sparkling pink paint. Run Rabbit Run, was all I kept thinking . . . until the thinking stopped.


I don’t remember much after the fifth shot of tequila, what happened to my clothes, or even if we’d ever made it back to my van. I taste iron in my mouth; spit dirt. It’s so very, very, cold—dark—and more cold, and the sound of shotgun blasts echoing closer and closer in the distant darkness is worse than the howl of the coyotes and the ache of my bare and bloodied feet.


Run Rabbit Run, was all I kept thinking as my frozen balls crept up into my ass . . . This is your last chance to— Run.




When she isn't writing, Cheryl Anne Gardner likes to chase marbles on a glass floor, eat lint, play with sharp objects, and make taxidermy dioramas with dead flies. She writes art-house novellas and abstract flash fiction, some published, some not.

In Association with Fossil Publications