by Brianna Kittrell I wake up each morning and somehow remember less, from my father’s favorite song to my mother’s favorite dress. The moments of yesterday just barely linger, I try to grasp the memories, but they evade my desperate fingers. There are small flashbacks from happenings long ago, but…
by Michael H. Brownstein Everything you wear, you wear to its grave, your gray stockings a small hole near the big toe, its color an undistinguished gray your shirt with a stain your pants frayed at the bottom, a rip in one pocket, change falling freely creating melodies you are…
by Stuart Gunter Written on the back of an old grocery list. Between Muriel Spark’s “The Goose” and Kestenbaum’s Subaru. Between being somewhere and going places. Now here: a poem within a poem, like a rose petal pressed in a Bible as a keepsake for a future art project using…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey I was about to see her again, worry a fist pressing at the back of my neck when I drew up to her front door, in my heart still that flicker of home. Inside the only aunt I had left, a dear soul so close to my…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey On perfect days if you looked through the small oval window you could see an old woman sitting by herself inside her darkened home, a duplex by the road, no front yard but a patch of yellowing grass untouched by the spring. Seldom did fingers of light…
by Holly Day She is a character study of how old I could get if I just stopped smoking and drinking and got a good night’s sleep every once in a while, the old lady smiles at me from across the near-empty bus tells me she’s having another good day,…
By Cameron Burry His breath lay thick in the air, pumping out rhythmically like the exhaust from an old pickup truck. Though it was well into the middle of spring, the chill of the winter winds had not yet given up their claim on the stretch of dilapidated farmland that…