by Thomas Gonzalez Riding the L/ One early morning/ Mouth mute/ Tense body speaking volumes/ Real world sounds being drowned out by screeching consciousness/ Encased in a box/ And then a voice/ All night long/ It’s going to take all night long/ Sang a somber young man/ Sitting across from…
by Mehrnoosh Torbatnejad The calico returns to the living room after scamper in backyard jungle, bringing with him the rustle that animals do while loitering in their owner’s home I do not turn to the familiar stir of paws inching against carpet when he enters, but I hear the swish…
by Ian Johnson Rosie sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor of her empty living room, unassembled furniture parts strewn around her like small towns at the base of a big mountain. She held an Allen wrench in one hand, the assembly pamphlet in the other. The tip of her tongue…
by John Benner At the Lincoln Memorial, throngs of tourists in neon T-shirts streamed off buses, laughing and sometimes even singing as they surged up the steps to stare at the statue of the long-dead president until the oven-hot air tamed them into the sodden crowd that trudged back down…
by Lisa Harris Nothing is unreal as long as you can imagine like a crow. ~ Munia Kahn Crows don’t wear watches. Time is not measured by irritating tic-tocs or marked off with Xs on calendar squares. Time as experienced by crows is an open window and omnipresent as air….
by C.Cimmone Cats made my mother’s skin crawl – at least that’s what she said, anyway. She knew my father welcomed them into our backyard to drag away the fish heads that fell from the fat nails along the Pecan tree after his trips to the river. My mother would…
by Marty Carlock The Audi is beetle-black and shiny as a dancing slipper. Under her hand the door latch opens with a heavy snick. She slides into the passenger seat, knowing the danger. The door closes with that weighty authoritative sound automotive designers have determined indicates quality. The leather is…
by Liam Conor The ice slowly melted into the clear brown liquid. The chill rolled down the glass as he slowly turned it round and round in his hand, leaving a slight trail on the old dining table. The small square table rested in the dim light overhead. The forty…
by Christine Holmstrom The smoke from the sergeant’s 25-cent cigar floated across the prison’s control room, a putrid cloud snaking around my head. It smelled worse than my cat’s dirty litter box. Swatting at the column of toxic air, I coughed into a strip of stiff gray state toilet paper…
by Lynn Doiron 1. I found nubby letter R’s meant for jackets, meant to brag, meant to say to everyone, I got this one for swimming, this one for track. I found the Iwo Jima buckle, brass and never worn. I found the ball-strike counter from his kneeling days behind…