Featured Writing

Morning in Yangon

by The Poet Darkling It’s always been about the tea. Black. Sweet. Dollop of curdled milk. Everyone has a shop. and they know how you like it by reading your face. You take yours creamy strong sweet. In a back room, salty little fishes bubble in a cauldron over hot…

read more...

SNHU Creative Writing Posts

Morning in Yangon

by The Poet Darkling It’s always been about the tea. Black. Sweet. Dollop of curdled milk. Everyone has a shop. and they know how you like it by reading your face. You take yours creamy strong sweet. In a back room, salty little fishes bubble in a cauldron over hot…

read more...

Who Is My Father in This World?

by James Ryan No one shall be forgotten who was great in this world. Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling Hot it was, wincing hot. Just another radiator-bubbling August afternoon for the drivers of southwest Missouri. But not for me, a thin-blooded, pale-faced Bronxite from New York City. I felt the…

read more...

Saturdays at the Kitchen

by John R. Murray The worst thing about arriving at the food coalition’s kitchen was getting one of the other volunteers to come downstairs to let me in. It was on the second floor of a church on a busy corner of Pico Boulevard, and even though the kitchen windows…

read more...

The Moment

by Eva-Maria Sher There is a moment when a familiar shape feels foreign, when your pretty porcelain cup spills from its shelf to reveal its substance when the lute—startled resonates with a new song, when you realize the captive bird in its cage by the window holds the key to…

read more...

Everybody Loves the Food Man

by Olaf Kroneman I feed the starving. I feed the dying. I’m no Mother Teresa, but the act of feeding the unfortunates who can’t eat appeals to me. How could you not like the person who feeds you? You don’t bite the hand. I feed people, patients, whose stomachs are…

read more...

Sassyfras Jones

by Gloria Holsinger Sassyfras swiftly dug up the ginseng roots with well-practiced hands, then placed them in the burlap sack she always carried on such missions. All the while she kept her ears perked for unusual sounds in the forest. She pushed her wild, strawberry blonde hair away from her…

read more...

My Secret Life as a Hoarder

by Marc Mayer Okay, I admit it…I’m a hoarder. No, I don’t mean one of those nutjobs you see on the TV news being led out of their hopelessly cluttered—with boxes of shit from the 1950s—home along with their thirty-two cats and eighteen dogs. I’m just your average “I never…

read more...

Midnight Blue

by Eva-Maria Sher Come Sleep Let’s ride Your dream-sheep Let’s glide Knee-deep Into tiramisu. I swim and lap in Lovely goo You wrap yourself In midnight blue. Come Sleep Come, keep me Company, you Fickle bumblebee You tease! Come soon I’ll bring you wings While Moon On silver strings Weaves…

read more...

Arrival

by Joseph Mills Even after Dale reaches the bleachers and Jackie has started stretching on the field, Sally and the boys are still in the van. Doing something. God knows what. It’s why Dale hates it when she drives. She get in and sits there, adjusting her seat, getting out…

read more...

When the Will Was a Performance Piece

by Michael H. Brownstein When I pass to the nether world, my dearest, watch for me in the rain. Do not go outside in gentle dress— I will be the acid from hammer fist clouds. When the weather changes, be sure to salt the walkway as you go. I will…

read more...