by Nolo Segundo If you really want to join the Club of the Old,there’s not much you have to do–just stay alive and wait—andone day—it will seem sudden–you’ll stop lying to yourself—andyou’ll accept the mirror’s wordas truth (for what mirror can lie?)and on that saddest day you’ll say(though still only…
by Russell Rowland When a storm comes down from the mountains,coniferous pines and deciduous oaksstiffen their backbones to bear the brunt of it. You can almost sense this,around you, if the forecast hasn’t kept you home. Birds take heed from the trees,and tighten those little talons. They weather outwhat they…
by John Grey This is the first fridge, the first stove,that we took equal responsibility for. And this is the cutting boardwhere I sliced my finger dicing onions..That is the sink.The hot tap still provideslukewarm water.The cold tap is as advertised. And look.There’s the dusty bay windowand the hole through…
by John Grey I walked through my sister’s bedroomto get to my own,sniffed out the dregs of their perfumes. A whiff of imitation Parislit up the depths of my nostrils,and traces of powder tickled my throat. I was twelve years oldand there were no man smells in the house. No…
by Joan Mazza Past tax day, end of April, below freezingthis morning, iced water for the strays,a good day for a fire in the wood stove,started with old newspapers. A headlinefrom 2018 says, Philip Roth is Still Here.No. He isn’t. A day to burn more paper—heat from receipts, bills paid…
by Jason Grant Blue grass, brighter than what I had everin my humble, simple, quick life laid eyeson was growing near the garden—out there,where the Hat Man waited for me to try seeing for myself if He was reallya thing, like the puzzle pieces I hadlaid out on the kitchen…
by G.O. Clark The old poetsits by the windowin his ancestral farmhouse,along a New Hampshirerural highway. He looks out uponthe tree lush landscape,rain beads on the windowpane gently blurringthe scene. His gaze shifts tothe old wooden barn,once a working one filledwith farm tools, now justa still life. It’s enough in…
by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
by Adeline Macdonald Clean steam iron the linen sheets, white and crisp and beautiful and without fault or fold White walls upon white walls with nothing to upset you or hurt you or make you cry or want to leave or want to think Do you love it? Is it…
by Jason Grant Five kids happily sit togetherfor a photographwith hopes it could stay like this forever. And though I know better,and that nothing lasts—not even laughs,five kids happily sit together. I’ll talk about the weatheror whatever else, if someone asks,with hopes it could stay like this forever but no…