by RR Ewart It is a terrible thing To look at oneself in the mirror And not recognize the person Staring back at you. But that is what happened to me. I believed I would not change. I thought I would look the same and might not Even realize that…
SNHU Creative Writing Posts
American Geisha
by The Poet Darkling As quiet as is quaint, my fingers tickle their spines on shelves of pine fresh painted. Fat drops of cloudburst freckle the glass of windows ceiling high. I choose one. Only one. It’s old and precious, its leaves wicking wisdom from the Bard himself. I imagine…
The Bully Inside
by Sean Heflin If there’s one thing Levi Levitt hates more than anything, it’s his best friend, Trish. It’s not that Levi doesn’t hate other things: he hates when the Cleveland Cavs lose, he hates when the cafeteria serves cardboard pizza with mushy tatter tots, he hates listing out what…
Fearless
by Amy Covel Don’t be afraid To take a stand To fight For what you believe Don’t be afraid To walk alone To chase That impossible dream Don’t be afraid To love a world That people want To hate Don’t be afraid To find beauty In a world That crucifies…
I’m Pretending to Be a Yoga Teacher so That My Husband Won’t Leave Me
by Natalie King For two days straight, I watched yoga YouTubes and smoked a lot of pot. I burned a Krishna Das CD for fifty minutes of music. If you’ve never done yoga, and out of the blue you and your soft butt start doing bizarre contortions for five hours…
An Ode to My Saturn
by Ann Hosler Your mangled face was bared to the crisp January air. Teeth and hair and debris scattered across the snowy road. Thirteen may be unlucky, but those long years together built a sense of trust and familiarity. Loose chunks of pavement secreted beneath snow deceived us as your…
Sugar Puffs
by Janna Brooke Wallack The tiny genie flew up from the bottom of the cereal box and hovered over the table, eye-level with the cop. “You’re a thinker, Sal. I dig that,” he said, his little wings fluttering. “But you’ve got fifteen minutes, bro.” Sal could wish homes for the…
Lying Lion
by Maria DeSantis She’s not that clever! he growled. No female ever overtook him! He was orange with power His pompadour mane purposely dredged forward hiding a lot of flakes His scorn groomed away facts and pawed a lot of fiction Dangerously playing cat-and-mouse Like an only child snatching for…
The Therapist
by Anne Johnston October in Georgia is a mosaic of orange, green, yellow, brown, red—of ash, birch, gum, oak, and evergreen trees that look down like elders onto the khaki pants, pastel prints, boat shoes, bourbon, and biscuits on the earth below. The elder trees nod and wave as the…
Moon Hung Low
by The Poet Darkling young crescent moon orange hanging low as Rēgulus watches her dip below the ridge to the west of us. A calf screams somewhere to the south as The Norfolk Southern S-Line whines just north. Coyotes howl ice into our veins we pull our shawl tight then…