by Adeline Macdonald Clean steam iron the linen sheets, white and crisp and beautiful and without fault or fold White walls upon white walls with nothing to upset you or hurt you or make you cry or want to leave or want to think Do you love it? Is it…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey I was about to see her again, worry a fist pressing at the back of my neck when I drew up to her front door, in my heart still that flicker of home. Inside the only aunt I had left, a dear soul so close to my…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey On perfect days if you looked through the small oval window you could see an old woman sitting by herself inside her darkened home, a duplex by the road, no front yard but a patch of yellowing grass untouched by the spring. Seldom did fingers of light…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey By the snowy river, its surface of china blue, she lived in a mobile home, outside her door wind chimes of teak and bone. The strong one in her family, taking care of her mother and two younger sisters long after her father had gone. The scent…