by John P. Kristofco He had grown accustomed to the dark, the silence, candor of the rock around him, echo of his sisters’ tears, his friends, promises they made as if to fool the truth, when he heard the stone removed, the wind, the words “Lazarus come forth,” and he…
by Michael C. Keith Douse me . . . please. Douse me now. Strike the match. Let me light the world. (Thich Quang Duc burned himself to death at a busy intersection in Saigon in 1963. He was protesting the U.S. supported regime of Ngo Dinh Diem, which had long…
by Margarita Acevedo In the dark night glinting chimes dance With the singing wind, bathed in eerie moonlight The gentle whispers of the dry branches murmur their delight, Swaying to the lyrical song. The quiet house sighs in awe of the strange Hypnotic dance. The…
by Brianna Capen-Parizo I’ll give you one day, To learn about me, Softness of touch, Breathe without breath. I’ll give you an outline, Of everything found. Freckle upon freckle, Search up and down. I’ll give you that piece, The one never found. Carved out and tattered, Beyond and bound. I’ll…
by Jesse Breite What could be more radiant, more terrifying than the faces of my friends congregated for me from their odd places, soulful little red dots speckling the globe? Each one yearning more than a torch ablaze in the black cold of December,…
by Jesse Breite God’s broken teeth spit out and tumbled from the bald peak, gurgled from earth’s hot belly. Pinnacle Mountain is the only peak I’ll always climb in silence. The congregation of lizards waits and listens to the shifting stems, the heart’s blossom,…
by Alena Orrison The cold iron of the unicorn statue, Lying substantially in my hand Creates a glimpse into long ago. Gentle warmth from morning’s sun glow Grandfather’s face smiling and tanned. Just out of my grasp hang firm swollen oranges Reflecting the vibrancy of the sunrise. From a bough…
by Jesse Breite If the fruit tells us anything, it is that we yearn, that the stillness is furious, that the fury is a sacred fire, that fire is a way of breathing, that lungs feed the open wound, but also that color…
by Nicole Hill Your nimble fingers reach for the volume control as Led Zeppelin’s “Houses of the Holy” rolls off the radio announcer’s tongue and enters our ears a second too late across the transmission of a radio wave. Your foot gently taps on the break pedal, the rosary beads…
by Kelly Milos Do you know the night phantoms? The shades that grow strange in Autumn? Oh, you must know the ones— the swirling spirits of once-living leaves giving the air its static sound, the clouds clicking through the branches guarding the harvest moon from prying eyes. They’re glimpses of…