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 Autumn Carter Dedicated to my Grandmother, Marilyn Kay Blaydes, who died February of 2013 of ALS. You weren’t really gone; not at Christmas when your hundred dollar check for your great-grandson’s college savings didn’t come in with the gushing note about how proud you are of him (and his…
by Autumn Carter How many coffee shop clichés does it take to understand the delicious power of bitter liquid energy going cold in front of a myriad of caffeine enthusiasts? In the center of the air-blasted room, at the tallest, wobbly table, in an obvious sea of crop tops and…