Featured Writing

Flowers in vase on table

Sod

by Maggie Swofford We watchedthe flowersfold underthe summersun—105°windchill—we lookedout my bed-room window. I baked andcaked mymakeup on bythe windowsillonly to haveit drip off. The flowervase toreoff itsstandduring aviolentstorm,and wethrew ourlaundryat eachother asnights grewdim andhot. The nextday, everyday, we’dcross ourlegs andfoldthe wrinkledfabric backinto somethingwe couldwear.

read more...

SNHU Student Posts

Brown box on table

Somewhere on Sycamore Street

by Darcie Raridon Need for a fatherfelt like a pox.So, I buried minein a box-top-box.It’s stuffedfull of lessons,he never taught,wrapped in clotheshe never bought,and I scribbledhis obituaryon the first, andonly postcardI ever got.

read more...

Flowing stream in forest

The Stream, The Soul and The Immersion

by Eric Obezo The cool rushing water                                               splashes and swirls,                                                     playfully dancing                                            around my skin.                                                 All of the dirt                                                                          I carry flushes away,                                                                                                               dribbling downstream,                                                                                                            revitalizing my body.                                     This pure elixir showers                         my matted hair, releasing the             clumps of grime…

read more...

Path leading into the woods

Marks

by Kelly Cofske (This story contains domestic violence.) As Timmy headed down the drive toward home, he smelled fresh-baked gingerbread in the air. He felt warm inside that Mom made his favorite after-school snack on such a day. Rounding the corner of the house, he headed for the back garden…

read more...

Empty classroom with chalkboard

Teenage Brain

by Julie Worsham (This poem contains sexual abuse and self-harm.) Man, I don’t wanna go to this class todayThe teacher’s always talkin’ bout how I need to apply myselfI guess she don’t understand how badly I want to fade awayJust curl up in my bed, cover my head, and forget…

read more...

Light contrasting with darkness

Last Light

by Brian Reickert The sun flicked offlike it was on a switch,and the darknessand the cold were instantand absolute. No one expected it to happenlike that, not one.An event utterly without precedentor warning. Every law and book, everyprophecy and prayer,every theory and model, alloverturned and swept away, and no one…

read more...

Wrinkled paper in the schoolyard

Wrinkled Paper

by Adrienne Monestere She was carvedfrom wooden shaftsof blackwood and pink ivory,mulched and pulpedin collated swank.From bolted margins                                        she’s parted from her shieldrebelling against the jotter,                                       torn to an asphalt schoolyard,mutilated to a ball,                                       beaten and launchedwith their wooden bats,                                       smashed in a recess game.Humiliated,                                                                              frightened, risingthrough ridicule,                                       she lies wrinkled,rumpled                                       and tramped. She limps towards…

read more...

Vinyl record playing over and over and over

Hotter Than July

by daria smith giraud My beaded bob clang like percussive clear quartz crystalsagainst the humming of taxi hornsair lifting my body on small brick fencesLeaping from curbed sidewalks into the air I loved New York in the summerTimes of music, drums in the park,rays pizza, papaya dogs and orange juliusNighttime…

read more...

Old fashioned letter

Letter From a Revolutionary Story

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…

read more...

Uncle's old red pickup

Down the Country Road

by Cathy Bown There in the passenger seat of my uncle’s old red Ford pickup was where the truth finally hit me. As I gazed out the dirty window at the golden country around me, I could see tall oak trees bursting with autumn foliage just waiting to return to…

read more...

Old lion resting peacefully

The Couple

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,…

read more...