by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
by William Meffert Lines of sand blew across the helipad beside the evacuation hospital. Beyond the helipad was a wide beach and beyond that, in darkness, the South China Sea, lit with white caps and foaming surf. Alex was the surgeon on call. Only a few weeks remained for him…