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 Katherine Yoerg I only hope that in the end What lies before me is a desert road… The sun striking down and turning it gold Accompanied by my dearest friend On both sides of the veil The trail Doesn’t end Although on one side the memories rust And footsteps…
by Katherine Yoerg In a variety of colors, they sit in plastic bags, the days of youth arrayed with symbols of the times; Motorolas and Tulips, Versace and Mickey Mouse – beckoning you into the darkness, into the strobe lights, into the drum, bass, and luminescence of being up all…
by Katherine Yoerg Ms. Geneva Pruitt greatly enjoyed her morning coffee and cinnamon roll at Wall Street Deli on her way in to work every morning. She enjoyed selecting a flavored creamer, sitting at the window, and stirring the creamer into each steaming cup. She enjoyed the way the steam…