by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
by Aaron Powell The warm summer air is heavy with the sweet smell of suntan lotion. I breathe in, studying her oily body—the way her tanned flesh glimmers in the sunlight—as I gently slip into the swimming pool. I slowly open my eyes. The chlorine burns and blurs my vision,…