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Indulgence
by Redde Michaels Ambrosia Espresso Aubergine such decadent mouthfuls of aural opulence designed for leisure – ripened plums spreading like silk across the tongue Cicada Adagio Susurrus ephemeral sustenance – arousing sighs of lovers cense and caress with a feather breath Petrichor Cinnamon Patchouli an unfettered display tracing temperance on the palate – unbound suspension of savor and spice Leather Caramel Lace …
Those Snowy Mornings
by Gil Hoy On those windswept weekday mornings, asphalt driveway crusted with snow, my father would get up early, put on his secondhand boots and an old coat, and exit through our front door into the blue hour to get the motor running. That fifteen-year-old station wagon would stall if…
Homesick
by Loralee Clark This grizzled orchard stares mute; brown-veined pirouettes caught in the swaying of stilled time amid lace-winged muck creeping in with hackberry queens, tawny fritillaries, and the ruddy daggers of decay. I study them: pallid vestals alone in the frost, unabashed in their spiky crystal embraces. If they long for orange-barred heat, quick and passionate to melt the rime,…
The Tabernacle of Ashbrook
by Travis Michaelis Long had I heard tales of the abandoned church overlooking the town of Ashbrook. With its peeling wooden walls reminiscent of fingernails being pulled back to reveal putrid flesh below, and its slanted roof threatening to collapse in the final touches of the church’s death throes, it…
Hand-me-downs
by Kelly Sicard Is life merely handed down? Yellow high-tops snuck from sister’s closet, sun-kissed freckles passed from Dad’s DNA, ripened stories picked from Mom’s memories, salty sayings and second chances from little brothers. How much of me, if anything, is baked from scratch? My morning tea steeps the familiar brand found in my childhood kitchen cabinet. The thick batter I pour…
The Goddess
by Jesse Teller She was crying. I was in a cardboard-cutout restaurant, a place we have seen over and over again, trying to eat a soulless meal while I stole glances at my college Lit book. And this girl was weeping. It was the kind of crying you do when…
A Smog Day
by Shannen Barrow Smoke and dust fill my lungs like silver needles edging on my itching throat. Now holding a blackened hand to my chest, burning. Every time I breathe in smoldering air, sweat sticks to my skin and blurry eyes. Tossing my head in sunken cotton threads, here my nightmares are unable to sleep as horns…
That Which is Sweet
by Millie Sullivan That Which is Sweet Delia sat on the velvet settee, her back straight and her knees pressed together. The air was thick with the scent of citrus, undercut by cinnamon and a whisper of clove. Bowls of oranges—plump, dimpled—sat artfully arranged on the small coffee table before…
Garfield Sheets
by Diane Webster I am a 69-year-old woman who sleeps on Garfield sheets. I am a 69-year-old woman who hangs a poster of a crabby cat that states, “I AM smiling!” I am a 69-year-old woman who has a samurai sword mounted above her bed and who no longer has to sleep with a kitchen knife resting on her night…