A poem inspired by May Swenson.
A poem inspired by May Swenson.
by Kenneth Bell A group of orcs rallied in front of a food bank. Some of them hoisted up picket signs that read “Meat is Murder” as they protested and roared to all within earshot. Others carried signs with graphic depictions of bloodied and severed limbs. The group formed a…
by Jennifer Predny “Janet! The SuperShuttle is going to be here any minute. We gotta go, or they’ll leave without us.” The words barely penetrate the fog that encompasses my brain. I know he said something. I know that the words have meaning. They mean something…something. I continue watching the…
by Haley M. Forté It all began with a hummingbird feeder that hung from a maple tree. Watching the buzzing birds flit from perch to perch as the emerald leaves faded to their autumnal states was how Little Emilia wished to spend her mornings. Mother was always busy, and Father…
By Steven Huddleston Beep…beep…beep. I heard it in my head like an alarm clock reminding me of what I already knew. It struck me in the chest when the same octave shot out of the speakers. I skipped to the next song. I hadn’t been home in years. I was…
By Jennifer Ward As a little girl, I was a dreamer. I wanted to be so many things—a teacher, a lawyer, an author, a fashion designer, an architect. Amid these dreams, I always imagined I would be happy doing something I loved. Still, during my first year of college, it…
By Hayden Pursley He checked his watch again. Then he thought of how he must look: sitting alone at a table for two, dressed and groomed nicely enough (he had tried very hard to not look like he was trying too hard), checking his watch then checking the entrance every…
By Mary Lanctot Though he’d only ever had the meal once in his life, the most memorable breakfast Rook had ever eaten was eggs done sunny-side up. He’d been four then, nearly a decade and a half ago, yet he still remembered his mother singing softly in a language he…
by Meri Parker Camp, near Saratoga, New York Oct. 18, 1777 My dear Frances, I finally have joyful news to share with you. After 33 days of fighting and bloodshed, General John Burgoyne has formally surrendered to our General Horatio Gates, after requesting a ceasefire five days ago following his…
by Fathiya Alalawi She wanted her husbandto forever be a lionand so, created mythsabout his might.He’s in his seventies,and she misses the dayswhen he was roaring.Now, he barelystretches and yawnsin front of the TV–his favorite den–and she roars at himout of frustration.She misses the dayswhen he was troublingthe whole town.Now,…
by Isaiah Robinson Moonlight settled his features; its soft silvery light feigned the youth he once had. Resting on a straw-stuffed mattress, Faiben stretched out his hands before him. In the moonlight they bore no scars, no calluses, no crooked fingers. They were the hands of a simple man, a…