by Jess Earl Mama told me that thunder is just the sound of angels bowling. The angel outside my window doesn’t have hands but maybe it just can’t bowl, like how Katie can’t eat peanut butter. The angel doesn’t look like the ones in Mama’s paintings; it looks like a…
by D Ferrara He sat heavily on a low wall. Not…? Bleeding? He thought. A woman tapped his arm. Her concerned face filled his vision, but he could hear nothing. Not bleeding? He thought again, as if the words could anchor him. Beyond her face, silent chaos. Smoke. Debris. People….