by Gonzalinho da Costa Morning steps forward, freshly washed, newly fed, tautly wound, a limber bow, Ready to spring, tumble, wheel, pull at oars, throw the hammer, leap the long jump, High kick, vault, cartwheel forward, lunge, Superman punch, elbow strike, grapple, Throw, bound, mount a motorcycle, zip, zap, round…
by Phil Temples I was giddy with excitement the very first time I experienced the phenomena firsthand on that hot, humid summer morning on McKinney Road in Allison Park, Pennsylvania. Michael Slattery was my longest and dearest childhood friend. He claims he was the one to first discover it. Mikey,…
by Don Mager Sun’s exuberant rush up the sky sweeps off shadows. The polish of fresh light sizzles icy mica flakes on lawns. Exhaling from the Juniper hedge, a tang of morning sweetness wafts across the shivery air. Like a bundled up gnome, a child bobbles up the curb to the hilltop…
by John P. Kristofco what the house keeps secret, things not meant for life outside the walls, only ours to tell, and so we never do: how we look when we get up, stairs we climb, noisy doors, dust and socks on floors, our angry words and soft, “her kerchief…
by Don Morgan The ghost of night shades the waterfront, cliffs and his hasty footprints in the sand. Painted flowers and her tears flow back to the sea.
by Gil Hoy I never appropriately Thanked you, Mr. Blue Man. I was just a dumb kid and didn’t know any better. I was moving, one day after turning eighteen. Signed up one of those cheap orange, black and White Rent–a–trucks, only Twelve bucks a day. My high school friends…
by Katherine Yoerg Ms. Geneva Pruitt greatly enjoyed her morning coffee and cinnamon roll at Wall Street Deli on her way in to work every morning. She enjoyed selecting a flavored creamer, sitting at the window, and stirring the creamer into each steaming cup. She enjoyed the way the steam…
by Don Mager The fog presses through the cold swamp of morning and eventually takes on, like an unfamiliar rival, the early afternoon’s occluded light. With its beams aimed low, each car crawls past the other cars like old men on their knees with flashlights quivering as they look for…
by John P. Kristofco …lives apart, among us like the silence we all hear, implore, avoid, the face we never see on sidewalks, on a thousand mile hill; …cannot walk in worlds he does not know, except for words he’s taken up like stones to build a wall, a dream,…
by Gil Hoy In Squirrel Hill, Pennsylvania, while in the third grade, I often trekked to my best friend’s home up the street, a backpack of books strapped to my small growing back. We read through pages and pages then, in a quiet little study in a remote corner on…