by Russell Rowland Sketchy is the restroomin this ramshackle arcade—almosta closet, dark—still, she has to go.Granddaughter, eight, insistsGrampy accompany her. I do— softened at her own wayof being those years young, her faiththat an elder man, retired,unremarkable, divorced, can causethe world to seem a safer place. Once we’re both inside,…
by Robert Kirk Scott Under the bed, in the dark, he remembered what it had taken to get him here. He remembered leaning back into the scratchy upholstery of the train seat, looking out the window at them, as the train lurched forward, ready to roll south. He didn’t believe…
by Amy Covel I’ve become accustomed To eating alone Out of little glass jars While I stare out the window And count the stars The heavens know That one lonely soul’s Not a constellation Of a crowded table All alone.
by Brigitte Brkic Michelle shrugged off an impulse to flee as her eyes traveled up the long escalator, its end curving out of sight. Adjusting the diaper bag on her shoulder and hanging the curved handles of the umbrella stroller over her right forearm, she hoisted two-year-old Nicholas onto her…
by Dean Knight The party was on April Fool’s Day, but Daniel had no thoughts of practical jokes. Although Claire had been only sporadically returning his texts recently, tonight, he felt, would be when things would get back on track again. It’s a major step to proceed beyond the first…
by Casey Dare I see you across the street, waving; So I try; The cars zoom past and the trucks roar by, But I try. I reach the middle, not sure if I should continue; I look to you for guidance and see you waving, So I try. The cars…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey On perfect days if you looked through the small oval window you could see an old woman sitting by herself inside her darkened home, a duplex by the road, no front yard but a patch of yellowing grass untouched by the spring. Seldom did fingers of light…
by Vivian Lawry The first person who wasn’t there for me was my overworked, overwhelmed mother. Initially, her body betrayed me. When I was eight or so, she tried—again and again—to give my father the son he so wanted. What she gave him, instead, was a weakened, broken wife. She…