Featured Writing

An orange in front of a white background

Exponential Decay

By Maggie Kennedy “The orange tastes like a refrigerator,” my son says,spitting out his bite and pretending to gag,and though I have never tasted a refrigeratorI know what he means. The orange tastes like the plastic it was wrapped in.And though I have never eaten plastic,the conjured smell fills my…

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Poetry Posts

An orange in front of a white background

Exponential Decay

By Maggie Kennedy “The orange tastes like a refrigerator,” my son says,spitting out his bite and pretending to gag,and though I have never tasted a refrigeratorI know what he means. The orange tastes like the plastic it was wrapped in.And though I have never eaten plastic,the conjured smell fills my…

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Cherries splashing into a martini

A Soldier’s Prosecco

By Angelica Whitehorne My mini skirt, a metallic shield. My martini in hand,a weapon with its tiny spear. I glory cry to a last generation’shomage of song, remember the fallen, the now mothers withwreckage hips bound to their front porches. I don’t belong to anyone, least of all myself.I open…

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Sun shining over a mountain range.

My Mother’s Words

By Phibby Venable All my mother’s words live around here,and I am always placing them in whatever orderI can remember.They hold the door open each morning, and suggestI have a better gratitude and attitude,for being aliveI stretch my eyes all over the sky, I lean upand look over the mountainsMy…

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An ambulance driving through a city at dusk.

The Sacrifice

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…

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A yellow-eyed wolf staring into the camera.

Daylight in a Poet

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…

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Blue pills spilling from a glass

Half-Life

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,…

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Two ballet shoes on the floor

Sophia at Twelve in the ICU

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…

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A pair of hands kneading dough in flour

Conjuring Bread From Earth

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…

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A crescent moon and cloud in the night sky.

Waking on My Birthday (After Liu Yong)

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…

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