by The Poet Darkling As quiet as is quaint, my fingers tickle their spines on shelves of pine fresh painted. Fat drops of cloudburst freckle the glass of windows ceiling high. I choose one. Only one. It’s old and precious, its leaves wicking wisdom from the Bard himself. I imagine…
by Sean Heflin If there’s one thing Levi Levitt hates more than anything, it’s his best friend, Trish. It’s not that Levi doesn’t hate other things: he hates when the Cleveland Cavs lose, he hates when the cafeteria serves cardboard pizza with mushy tatter tots, he hates listing out what…
by Amy Covel Don’t be afraid To take a stand To fight For what you believe Don’t be afraid To walk alone To chase That impossible dream Don’t be afraid To love a world That people want To hate Don’t be afraid To find beauty In a world That crucifies…
by Ann Hosler Your mangled face was bared to the crisp January air. Teeth and hair and debris scattered across the snowy road. Thirteen may be unlucky, but those long years together built a sense of trust and familiarity. Loose chunks of pavement secreted beneath snow deceived us as your…
by The Poet Darkling young crescent moon orange hanging low as Rēgulus watches her dip below the ridge to the west of us. A calf screams somewhere to the south as The Norfolk Southern S-Line whines just north. Coyotes howl ice into our veins we pull our shawl tight then…
by Amy Southard I know when Autumn arrives, Usually early September here. The corn in my garden is ready for harvest, The silks turning brown. The pumpkins are beginning To turn more orange than green. Leaves are turning yellow, orange and red, Falling to the ground and crunching, As playful…
by Ann Hosler Water trailed down the window in rivulets, tracing the contours of my ghosted face. You wished me a happy birthday, nestled in sterile sheets of your hospital bed. Freshly woken from the coma of your surgery, you couldn’t remember my name. The surgeon removed a basketball-sized spleen…
by Lauren Leigh Powell I don’t know why my father hated dandelions so much. My Aunt Edna told me once that it was a “man thing.” That somehow all men, when they are the steward of their own yard, become convinced that the bright sprinkling of yellow is a punishment…
by Jeffery Williams Somewhere in the distance, there resonates familiar THUMP BUMP noises of clumsy little feet. In a bedroom, down a hall, in the kitchen, down the stairs, above my head, in my head, somewhere there is enthusiasm and mischief stirring. Here at the very bottom floor, surrounded by…
by The Poet Darkling Today was one of those days; one of those days when you realize you shouldn’t’ve waited; you shouldn’t wait; when you discover places people call “Climax;” “Crapstone;” “Cut and Shoot;” “‘Possum Kingdom;” “Rest and Be Thankful;” when you learn these places could quite possibly be flooded…or that they might be heavenly oaseshaving never known disaster,and you might neverhave knownor caredeitherway,but…