by Jenny Andrews Days lie down crumble all around ruins obscured in mid-February shadows Sundays lost amid gods long forgotten. Sleeping in with a remembrance of his hand at the small of my back, resting there, his lips flutter behind my earlobe, the scent of him-musky like sweat, his kiss…
by Brianna Kittrell If the moon could speak to the sun, she would commend him on a long day done. She would tell him that he owns her heart, and that there is no light when they are apart. She glances him in passing, though it be very brief, and…
by Chelsea Eccleston The smoke stung my eyes, making them water uncontrollably. It burned my lungs, making me cough and unable to breathe. I crawled along the floor unable to tell where the door was. Was it in front of me? Behind? I was running out of time. I choked…
by Brianna Kittrell I wake up each morning and somehow remember less, from my father’s favorite song to my mother’s favorite dress. The moments of yesterday just barely linger, I try to grasp the memories, but they evade my desperate fingers. There are small flashbacks from happenings long ago, but…
by Donald Griffin I can see them, the dancers, over there in the distance. Men and women whirl around the fire their silhouettes mimicking every movement upon the lighted canyon wall behind them. Drum beats reverberate through the cool crisp night air, like a thousand hearts beating and pumping life…
by Renata De la Cruz Monteón Night starts; leaves, branches dancing with the wild wind while crickets sing love songs.
by Mary E. Kendig Mothers aren’t perfect — not by far. Some can be stern and uncaring — even “unpresent,” while some are so loving they smother you until you can’t breathe, Or praise you until you start to believe you’re completely and utterly perfect in every way, like she…
by Cari Dow The marching band, dressed in orange and black thick polyester uniforms, pranced by, playing the school’s fight song. Royal Kaufman felt the sweat from the hot July evening clinging to the top of her head. The shiny red firetrucks rolled down the main street blowing their sirens…
by R.M. Juillerat Life went on when the rain didn’t stop. It started with the glaciers melting. Then the tsunamis and hurricanes, eyes small, teeth barring, hit the coasts. No one listened. Earthquakes decimated eighty percent of countries, and no one listened. No one listened when the rain came, when…
by Destiny Cook They say that with hard work, just that. And dedication. We can escape this prison, this trap called desperation. The one we’re all broke in, Struggling. You know, except that one percent. We can fight until we die but it won’t make a difference. Uncle Sam pretends…