by Michael C. Keith You can’t stop being afraid just by pretending everything that scares you isn’t there. – Michael Marshall During the summer of my 11th year,…
Posts Tagged creative writing
Blue Recliner
by Teresa Burns Murphy As Tom Langston drove up the street where he lived in the suburban neighborhood of Kennerly, Arkansas known as Hawk Hills, he saw his recliner sitting on the curb in front of his house. He pulled his car into the driveway, jerked the gearshift into park,…
Thumbing Georgia
by Michael C. Keith If you were color blind, you’d be a better person. Robert Smith It seemed to me that we’d been standing on the blazing stretch of Route 1 south of Savannah half of my 12 years on the planet. “My legs are getting rubbery from being here…
Molting
by Kate McCorkle We are in the prescription drop-off line at CVS, which, after 6 p.m. on a weekday, is several people deep. My eight-year-old, Lizzie, has a severe ear infection. She is stoic and in extreme pain. The mean pharmacist is behind the counter. I once left the line…
Broken Sleep
by Michael C. Keith For some offenses, there is only retribution. – Dennis R. Miller Quinn Myer woke up in the middle of the night to relieve himself, but…
The Porch
by Tracey Loscar The porch is a magical place. It is far and away the best feature of this house. Small and screened in on three sides, it is cool in the morning and fully lit in the afternoon sun. This was by design, as my grandmother loved to read…
All Night Long I Track the Sounds
by Naomi Ruth Lowinsky We’re in the dark again, on uneven ground, where only shadows know the way. Your breath is my compass; your hand is the North Star. What have we stumbled into? Stag’s skull crowns a tent of bones. We are to sleep here. Remember the stag in…
The House
by Tracey Loscar The air remains heavy and hot, despite the fact that the sun has long since disappeared. Summer nights in the south aren’t so much a cooling off as a kicking off of the heavier blanket, where the sheet gets left on, keeping some of the air trapped….
Down-going River Song
by Naomi Ruth Lowinsky Red River sing us a drinking song Summer’s spell broken Sing of the way we used to be When we swam in each other Swam in you Before Drought exhausted the garden Before Fate rode in On a Night Mare Breath labors Blood stammers Bone…
Even Now
by Ann Minoff on the corner of rush and walton an incandescent bridge between the two halves of my mind momentarily shines as families crowd the stores carrying packages for their holiday tree my new grandson, daughter beside me when this intergalactic nexus flashes through the cheeriness and epidemic stimulation…