by James B. Nicola I heard my mother’s voice today. Thanksgiving weekend. Ten years this January. My nephew played a very loving voice mail message from her he has kept on his cell phone ten years. My brother said he has kept three such messages. My nephew said he had another one and wept awhile. It made…
By Christy Bailes My walls have seen forty years, with each layer more concealed than the last, and I wash, scrubbing nicotine-stained body, so full of memory that I measure time by yellow, once white smoke, swirling elegantly about the room, looking visually pleasing until I smell burnt tar. I…
Crush By Maria Belotti I watch; I wait. Bated breath, I lean into my Chair and force myself to be still. Slender fingers tremble unknowingly I Start a drumbeat then I force myself to stop – Only to worry at a hangnail and cause the roughened skin to tear then…