by Gil Hoy On those windswept weekday mornings, asphalt driveway crusted with snow, my father would get up early, put on his secondhand boots and an old coat, and exit through our front door into the blue hour to get the motor running. That fifteen-year-old station wagon would stall if…
by Scott Christopher Beebe it’s been far too long since I’ve seen the sun drift pastyour wide-open eyes matters for naught thatwhen we last spoke, you had said,“Hate the way (I) play this forever dream”of which you’d never seemed apart of its themed scheme each night, we would lieour heads…
By: Joyce Kiefer When Ernie stopped to shift his pack on his long walk from the bus stop, he noticed the low fence that circled the house on the opposite corner. The way the rising sun angled in on that fence, man, he could see it was blazing with little…
By Debra Hanley We arrived before the hearse. Heads turned as the deafening sound of twenty motorcycles rolled through the cemetery. Dressed in jeans and t-shirts layered beneath our vests, many were decorated with military insignia. We parked with precision dismounted, and gathered our flags. Solemnly we took up positions…