Patrick MacGill Synan > Writing | WritersCafe.org

While we were eating dal and rice out of bowls made from dried leaves the servers shoed away the children who were be..

She could sing of murder with a bright smile like the ghost of child who doesn’t know she’s dead and play..

I am here alone, arranging to be more so with legal separation forms and financial affidavits, remembering an inside joke or an empty vision ..

Your memory was a reel of film spliced by age in places. Your gait was timid as a pup's, but still you wouldn't trip. And they wouldn't let you, ..

She was born an asteroid in Jehovah’s solar system, where Ma kept her cool with Sunday brunches, and Pa with the paper, sitting in h..

Patrick MacGill Synan Writing