by Jay Carson sits in a valley bottom of four hills as if to be kind to its clients and the horses that were their bearers. Today’s ride is easier, but car parking is awful. There’re still too many living. We walked down, each of the times one of our…
by Gil Hoy Are we a family of nations or are we not? How did this nation thing happen in the first place anyway where just about every man woman and child belongs to one like a fraternity or club Was it the different languages we spoke Or is that…
by Bonnie Lykes The consignment shop is only a yard from vicious traffic. It doesn’t seem fair the sweetness of so many grandmothers and dear uncles suffers the exhaust. Flimsy tapestries, shaky wood shelves, a nickel cooktop, beaded wallet, a painting of post-modern ladies fanning fans all crammed up, orderless….
by Kalah McLaughlin We lay vertical in our bed I hear and feel his breathing we’re so close – and yet, so far He’s in another world and I, am dizzy watching him I move closer – Nose to nose I blink – two times, three He feels my eyes…
by Elizabeth Shannon A solitary nail… in a wall where the wasp nest once hung, hardly a sigh from his side of the bed here only holds a remainder of lace woven from mud, a life delicately spun I observed this empty space daily my gray paper palace, our imaginary…
by Aneesh Shukla Twilight was beginning to fade and the dark of night settling in. Aneesh leaned against the open doorway of the balcony, watching the sky, waiting for the stars to light his way. Behind him, he heard Maitri humming softly as she soothed their son to sleep. The…
by Amy Covel It was Your work You gathered The stone The metal The tools You worked For days For months For years You created Those walls Those floors Those bars And now You live In Your own Prison.
by Holly Day Every once a while, the black ribbon snakes congregate in my front yard knit themselves into a writhing mating pile, disgorge thumb-sized stones disappear back into the knee-high weeds when they’re done. It’s important to gather these stones as soon as possible or they’ll lose their magic…
by Chris Boucher Following the hollow sound of a bounding ball Into an empty early morning gym, an old man starts to shoot solo. The long dormant floor creaks and moans And the rim rattles in the echoey cold— Echoes like his old skills. He lives with that Like he…
by Lisa Harris Perhaps you see a globe: You think, a world is round; a world spins. Continents are misshapen feet, and all around them lies blue water, the color of a Scandinavian’s eyes. Perhaps you see a million faces, a blur of non-photogenic humanity, a smear of intention, like…