By Kristal Peace (This poem contains domestic abuse.) My mother holdsMy hand as we navigateThe city’s streets during rush hour,The song of sirens escorting us home.She holds the grocery bagThat yanks her toward dinner. She holdsThe sharp words my fatherFlings at her when she thinksThe day is going well. She…
by Andrea Rathbun I check the rearview mirror just as her chin hits her chest and at last comes to rest. I sigh, louder than necessary, letting out a breath that I’ve held for the last four months. I glance at the other side of the back seat and see…
