by Adeline Macdonald Clean steam iron the linen sheets, white and crisp and beautiful and without fault or fold White walls upon white walls with nothing to upset you or hurt you or make you cry or want to leave or want to think Do you love it? Is it…
by Lauren Leigh Powell I don’t know why my father hated dandelions so much. My Aunt Edna told me once that it was a “man thing.” That somehow all men, when they are the steward of their own yard, become convinced that the bright sprinkling of yellow is a punishment…
by Dawn Fryauff No life bears forth from this desert. No seed takes root in this place. Be fruitful and multiply is Not A promise, but instead A command. Unfulfilled; My failure punctuated Monthly by Deep contractions of longing Birthing sand and scorched seed From this withered waste of a…
by William Bortz I sit and count, in a midday sun, my troubles and woes the casted shadows of full limbs and branches poking through my kitchen window and stretching down the wall the blackened tips of my weary fingers- filing and sorting sight encumbered within my head; a cracked…