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 Jo-Ann Lucas some of us have kids and worry where they are even when they grow up some of us don’t and wish we did and worry about who we are some of us have hot flashes and long for our periods some of us bleed profusely wondering if…
