by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
by Ann Minoff on the corner of rush and walton an incandescent bridge between the two halves of my mind momentarily shines as families crowd the stores carrying packages for their holiday tree my new grandson, daughter beside me when this intergalactic nexus flashes through the cheeriness and epidemic stimulation…
by Ann Minoff like my mother when I eat food remains on the corners of the mouth most fingers and pants especially the black pair I wear all the time, crumbs on the chair and floor she wore animal prints leopard spots on her blouses skirts, pants, and shoes, even…