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 Christian Linville When Anna received the wedding invitation from her best friend in late spring, she felt a wave of nostalgia. She recollected Katy’s young, beautiful face. She thought of the stale classes and shared angst of their last days of high school. The elegant calligraphy and formal wording…
by Mary Julia Klimenko Julia Pearl had been to therapy enough years to understand it was her job to find things to do and her job not to complain if her life wasn’t going the way she wanted it to go. Her therapist always pointed out, when Julia Pearl complained…