by James B. Nicola I heard my mother’s voice today. Thanksgiving weekend. Ten years this January. My nephew played a very loving voice mail message from her he has kept on his cell phone ten years. My brother said he has kept three such messages. My nephew said he had another one and wept awhile. It made…
By Christopher Keller rays bend glass-caught straw as she bends to her purse; each iris darts a dimly-lit direction. cone-colored thoughts, lingering in rods, occipital interpretations; a blink – sensory memory keeps curves in Polaroid transgression at a refraction of the cost. trapped forever in devouring focus, she stirred something…