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 JB Mulligan Each day takes off, the next day lands – like small slaps to the head. Crouched, furry creatures stunned by the headlights. “Of course they’ll stop. If they don’t, they’ll hit me.” No deed of a boulder to hoist up the hill: bend and pick up a…
By JB Mulligan The flat and pallid path to all horizons narrows to the domed demise of an ashen, ill-lit sky. Light breaks through the drear overhead sometimes (enough to remember, anyway), and stains the jagged dirt (that once the sky was washed, translucent, the distant rim aglitter in a…