I told her all the secrets of my past had zippers. Told her to just pull at will, that their teeth would unclench. But she got lost in their maze with weary fingers and the jack-in-the-box quality of them startled her. Secrets too early revealed can be like mammoths with clumsy feet making much of every step. She handed me a crowbar and told me to have at it with a few of her own. “That’s all you got?” I told her with sweat dripping, a small cannonball pyramid of them I stacked at my feet. But she just said to give it time, how they all were fond of flying.

ROBERT SCOTELLARO is the author of six flash fiction collections, and five books of poetry. He has, along with James Thomas, co-edited New Micro: Exceptionally Short Fiction, published by W. W. Norton & Company.  His work has appeared widely and is included in Norton’s Flash Fiction International and Flash Fiction America, as well as six Best Small Fictions and Best Microfiction award anthologies.  He was the winner of Zone 3’s Rainmaker Award in poetry, and his book of triptychs, Ways to Read the World, was a finalist for The American Fiction Award.  Robert currently lives in San Francisco.