Featured Writing

To Cross A Raging River

By Jim De Marse I walked in the back door and smelled pot roast in the oven with gravy, peas, butter, and rolls on the side. Mom was making the gravy in a saucepan. I said hi, took off my jacket, and hung it on one of the hooks above…

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Featured Posts

To Cross A Raging River

By Jim De Marse I walked in the back door and smelled pot roast in the oven with gravy, peas, butter, and rolls on the side. Mom was making the gravy in a saucepan. I said hi, took off my jacket, and hung it on one of the hooks above…

read more...

Airplane

Privilege

By David James Driving through North Hollywood, a few months shy of a legal beer, a glance in the rearview mirror suggested a mop of hair more ragged than normal. As thoughts of a haircut began to register, a storefront advertising unisex hairstyling appeared, and right in front of its…

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Fall Leaves

Grandfather

By Gwendolyn Jensen Some say that fall is death                       or death imagined.And it is true that color                       announces both,Whether painted on                       the leaf or skin,Whether red or gold                       or pale clay. Grandfather’s picture was painted                       in his autumnGarden, in his dark green                       garden chair,The leg rest up, his legs                       stretched out to whereThe rotogravure is spread                       all around…

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swings

Nostalgia

By Caitlin Eha I drove to the park todayThe old one just down the roadFrom the house where I’ve always livedOne step out of my car becameA step back through time. I wandered the old pathsWhile children raced past meScrambling up the slides in wild abandonSearching for the monkey bars…

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Car driving in snow

Counting The Ways

By Alan Gartenhaus The thud sent me racing to look out windows closed tightly against frosty north winds. Abandoning my homework, I bolted into the evening’s dark without stopping for a coat. Tire tracks in a fresh dusting of snow led to a car smashed against an oak tree on…

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Chicago

The Whisk

By Jenn Bouchard I hadn’t thought about my ex-girlfriend in years. Now Clara – or Cee, as I called her – was sitting across from me at Cannonball, my restaurant in the River North neighborhood of Chicago. She was there because I had totally messed up her life about two…

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A violin resting on its case outdoors.

The Songs of Lakewood

by J D Francis Woodrow Franklin sat resting, slowly pushing back and forth on an old, wooden bench swing that hung from a rusty chain on the front porch of the tiny cottage. It is where he has lived for thirty-seven years, alone. The bench squeaked and moaned with every…

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A bakery window filled with pastries.

Another Round

by Lisa L. Lynn In Derrick’s younger years as a baker, women and pastry were somehow all of the same dreamlike confection, heady with sugar, alternately cloying and sublime. They were so indelibly coupled that he had often tasted women as rich layers of butter and salt, almond and fruit,…

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An analog clock at 8:10.

8:29 a.m.

by Katie Stavick 8:05 a.m. I shut off the alarm and lay in my bed, contemplating calling in sick. I mean, seriously, what’s the point? I already submitted my notice, which sucked. “It’s not that we don’t like you or think you could handle the job. We know you could. But the person we…

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