By Kristal Peace (This poem contains domestic abuse.) My mother holdsMy hand as we navigateThe city’s streets during rush hour,The song of sirens escorting us home.She holds the grocery bagThat yanks her toward dinner. She holdsThe sharp words my fatherFlings at her when she thinksThe day is going well. She…
by Phyllis Carol Agins Five hours in the Mediterranean sun, and she’s not waiting for anything special. Not for finding lifetime love or even a quick affair after the end of her decades-long marriage. Hours walking and her feet hurt, even though she’s worn her sensible Birkies. She’s strolled through…