by Angela LeBlanc The wind whistles hot against the dry red rock, lashing through dry leaves that cling. Words— gasping for life, suffocated and trapped. Talons scrape the clouded horizon: pinks invade yellows, slash purples. Desperate for distance—flight. Running, breathless and terrified from the truth. Arid color splashed across the…
by Keryna Stutts Barefoot, leaning over the counter she painted on her lipstick. She never wore shoes unless she was going out. The bottoms of her feet stained black, she could run across gravel as if it were carpet. Lips pursed carefully around a menthol, so as not to smudge…
by Michael Sandler 1. How the past buttresses remorse, as if today’s missteps fit old indentations that zig then zag from one ancient beacon to another. Like you I feel pulled apart by each, unsure which will prevail as if both flew my banner, leaving me to soldier on my…
by Lee W. Sang My mother told me copper grows more beautiful and balanced with time. That’s why she gave me the necklace—two simple strands of hammered copper discs. She had bought it as some sort of peace offering, but we both knew she wanted me to be the woman…
by Michael Sandler Call it fierce appetite for gadgets, strawberry huller, a lobster pick good for fishing out olives. Lives imbue my favorite, cracking walnuts in a pinch, juicing lemons— but mostly for exuding garlic. Mom’s joke: a real chef would cook his goose with one. She used to clear…
by Eleanore Lee A yellow mist floats along the rim of the far hill. In the dawning spring it sprang up by itself. We didn’t notice it happening. It just appeared. Up close the juicy little leaves look like clover, But they’re not. The sparkling blossoms small and brilliant. No…
by Norman Belanger “Oh for cripe’s sake, would you look at that!” Her first sip of soup ends up mostly on the front of her Easter blouse. She daps the tip of her napkin in a water glass, blots at the red stain on floral silk. “For Christ’s sake!” Nearly…
by Michael Sandler As I approached he stood haltingly, kyphotic and aged. Perhaps he saw my chest thrust, rodding my back as if to overcome the torque of my own crooking hinge, its rust and abrade. Over appetizers and wine, disquiet ran in background mode while routine smiles and talk…
by Mia Sara If you’re waiting for deliverance, better call UPS. If you’re waiting for UPS, look out for the green truck. If you’re bored of looking, try leaping off the edge. If you’re tired of the falling, better find a safety net. If you’re waiting for a safety net,…
by Rachel Chalmers ANCHOR: You’re listening to Swan Song, and we’re crossing over live to Fox San Quentin for the last ever interview with California’s worst infanticide. A content warning for our sensitive listeners: This inmate is unrepentant and the details of her crimes are grotesque. Male authority figure guidance…