By Amy Covel “Make a wish,” she said,cutting me off, mid-word.“Huh?” I asked.It didn’t matter, really,what I was going to say.“It’s 11:11,” she said. “Make a wish.”I’d never heard of such a thing.But I said, “Ah…ok.”A wish is never bad.So, I shut my eyesand wished for her success.She still doesn’t…
By Nancy Baker It was after the washing of the dinner pots and dishes, the reading of today’s paper, the tucking in bed of the younger ones. It was after I heard him say as he walked out the back door, “I’ll see you later,” and I responded, “Good luck…
By Jason Arehart Despite Samuel’s best efforts, the garden was under attack. That much was clear. He bent down and examined the plants for any uneaten fruit. All that was left were the small, hard green growths that would eventually become tomatoes. This was not the start he had wanted….
By Stacie Seidl My heart still beats My will is not broken I will never be defeated by words left unspoken Lessons were learned Growth was achieved Self resurrected I always believed
By Laura LaJoie What an eerie feeling!Meeting the intruderWho’s seeking shelterWithin my mind. Exposing the horrors I’ve been numb to, Using me as its puppet! The gruesome fact is, We are one in the same, Aren’t we? A mirror image Stitched entirely of Flaws, bound tightly By self-preservation.
By John Grey Can you keep the 7to yourselfhere in this raging sea-storm,or on the mountain side,above the tree-line,when your fingers are impatientto be counting offyour sudden rise in heartbeats. Can you adds 6 to your don’t call list, and throw 5overboard at the first opportunity. Where vines creep and…
By Michael Silverman The morning train was relatively empty. In my car, the only passengers were a dozen black women and me. The train was heading north, and we were going to work. It was our common denominator. In the mid-1970s, I was a reverse commuter. I lived in New…
By Gil Hoy I remember summer mornings before anyone else was awake Opening the silver side screen door dark grass, soft carpet under bare feet the already sultry sun and moist salty air Walking out onto a wooden dock with rusty nails, old varnish and a weathered bait bucket attached by a coiled brown rope that was fraying like a…
By John Grey The job’s not done yet.The fields must be burnt clear. No patting sweaty backsas the last truck rolls down the roadway.Harvest is not the end. So, in the last of sun,the wicks are lit.The sky glows sparkling grayas flame moves inon slithering snakes, scurrying rats,crackling stalks and…
By Jim De Marse I walked in the back door and smelled pot roast in the oven with gravy, peas, butter, and rolls on the side. Mom was making the gravy in a saucepan. I said hi, took off my jacket, and hung it on one of the hooks above…