Wingèd Rejection

I don't know why it's wingèd; it just is.

It flapped my way today from Ninth Letter, which had rejected something else but enticingly requested something more. This moved through the system pretty quickly, one month, but to no avail. And so I seek another venue for "You Have No Idea What I've Forgotten."

Sample paragraph, sans context:

Ron said, “Curb.” He passed the sofa from hand to hand behind him as he swung his end to face the street. His grandmother was talking across the driveway to an old man on the next porch, Sam Timmons, who wore a beige newsboy cap on his bald head. He had no lips and nostrils that appeared to let you peer too far inside him.