by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
by RR Ewart It is a terrible thing To look at oneself in the mirror And not recognize the person Staring back at you. But that is what happened to me. I believed I would not change. I thought I would look the same and might not Even realize that…
