by J. Caleb Thomas For as long as I can remember, Mother rang a silver bell every morning at six. It was small enough to fit in her palm but loud enough to wake the dead. Even when she was bedridden and pale with fever, she kept it on the…
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Maxwell House Kills the Wicked Witch of the West
by Aline Pusecker Taylor Leaves swirl over ribboned bark grayed and grooved. Glint of flint! Blaze ablaze! The witch needs a fix a mix of hazelnut and cream a dream, caffeine Brew to shrew. Ding-dong, the witch is dead