top of page
WRITING BY
MAUREEN AITKEN
Rigs like metal pelicans slurped oil from bone-dry Texas flatlands. Ten Cadillacs shoved nose first into the ground, tilting eastward. In New Mexico, my father stopped the car under a boulder hanging so impossibly over a cliff that it appeared to be in the first stages of falling straight onto the road, and now onto us.
​
From Maureen Aitken's short story, The Family Trip
bottom of page