by Adeline Macdonald Clean steam iron the linen sheets, white and crisp and beautiful and without fault or fold White walls upon white walls with nothing to upset you or hurt you or make you cry or want to leave or want to think Do you love it? Is it…
By Lois Hard Standing on the curb, I watch the procession as the world marches by with their flutes and suits made of crackling armor, drums beating to a tune that I can’t see, muted clowns riding indiscernible cars, floats waving their streamers for all to taste except for me…