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 Aline Pusecker Taylor Leaves swirl over ribboned bark grayed and grooved. Glint of flint! Blaze ablaze! The witch needs a fix a mix of hazelnut and cream a dream, caffeine Brew to shrew. Ding-dong, the witch is dead
