Sanibel Jones enjoys writing poems about things that don’t really exist. Yes, she’ll whittle away the best part of her day about Miram’s Unmissable Mist!™. Or the missing degree of that spring day in Schree, or the boatman’s inscrutable mug, or the Cymbaldon’s wag about Miss Mary Jagg and the things that she does on her rug.
But the best yarns she’ll spin are the ones that begin with “The words that I’m speaking are true,” for those are the tales where old San never fails to wax uncannily shrewd about you.
So gather ‘round now—wipe that sneer off your brow—for the truths that just can’t quite be missed, lying tangled in threads of the words that she said in her poems that don’t quite exist.
K. Parker-Friedland practiced law for twenty-seven years before deciding she had absolutely no interest in law. She now lives in Miami with a pet flounder named Steve. Her money is mostly in plastics.