By Kristal Peace (This poem contains domestic abuse.) My mother holdsMy hand as we navigateThe city’s streets during rush hour,The song of sirens escorting us home.She holds the grocery bagThat yanks her toward dinner. She holdsThe sharp words my fatherFlings at her when she thinksThe day is going well. She…
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…