By Pamela Kaye (This piece first appeared in the online publication MixedMag.) My wife and I finally settled into a financially and physically secure retirement. Two years ago, we bought our forever home, unpacked boxes that had been in storage, and eased into the next chapter of life; for me,…
By Phibby Venable A wolf runs through my mind.I wake up to a compliant dreamon the nightstand,the moon in my eyes,an accumulation of pennies and dimes,a restless spider with worn webbing.A wolf is living in my small understanding,loose boned and lopinghigher up to howl.It is a cautious summer.Outside is a…
By Kevin Mc Dermott ‘John’s the boss now,’ your father said. And that was the end of it. John, the prodigal, home after years on the buildings in London. John, who didn’t know his arse from his elbow. Twelve years putting your heart and soul into the fucking place, twelve…
By Joan Mazza Track down the half-life of radioisotopesand you’ll find Uranium at 4.5 billion years,Carbon 14 at 5,730 years. Caffeine a mere five to six hours. Meds have half-lives, too—the time they take to degrade to half strengthwhen you’ll need to take another dose. What about marriages and friendships,…
By Roberta Schine When I was a junior at Central High School, Mike Ventura invited me to Cornell University’s homecoming weekend. We had gone out a few times when he was still in Bridgeport. Once, he took me to Beardsley Park Zoo. Another time we sat in the Merritt Canteen…
By Susan Phillips Jim was gone. He died a hero in the Great War and Sally would never see him again. Her last glimpse of him was in his coffin, lying peacefully in his uniform, with a few medals pinned on his chest. Just before the casket was closed, his…
By E. Laura Golberg She was a sturdy ballerina, now she’s like the tiny white mushroom that grows just above the grass, gills on top, open to every wind. Unlike me, her grandma, she still has years to live. Should my breathing falter, that plastic V below my nose, would…
By Gil Hoy SometimesYou have to say Farewell to another To say helloTo yourself.
By Pamela Wax —for Rob …at the still point, there the dance is. — T.S. Eliot There you are, baking breadbefore sunrise, kneadingits knots and sinews like a masseuse.You divine the dough’s perfect balancebetween a big-belly Buddhaand a contortionist, nudging…
By George Freek The moon is a crooked thumbnail,clawing through a hollow sky.I stare at the stars,obdurate as quartz or leadlike the mattress of my bed.The moon is hidden bythe withering leaves of a tree.Sympathy is rare.Compassion is a mystery.I feel like the crumbling ruinsof a marker in a cemeteryto…