by Rob Simpson You can imagine what a group of sailors look like in the Bahamas after three weeks at sea. If you can’t, it looks like white skin turning red before your eyes and tan lines at right angles. It looks like beer spilling from solo cups, splashing poolside,…
by Vanessa Kristovich Three dollars. That is all I have left. After a long period of being disabled I have exhausted my savings, borrowed my 401(k), and have almost exhausted my disability benefit. I will get a check in about two weeks, but until then, this is it. I place…
by Vivian Lawry The first person who wasn’t there for me was my overworked, overwhelmed mother. Initially, her body betrayed me. When I was eight or so, she tried—again and again—to give my father the son he so wanted. What she gave him, instead, was a weakened, broken wife. She…
by Sarah May Wilson Eyes are staring at me from the rearview mirror. Almond shaped and haunted, coal black pupils with flat, sea green irises reflect back. The days have taken their toll on them as each hard year has passed. These eyes have seen too much, endured too much….
by Laurelann Easton Jennifer tugs her blouse over her stomach, a part of her that has never rounded, and twists the peridot ring she’d put on in place of her wedding band. The band had barely lasted her and David a year, and now they sit together in an iron…
by Libby O’Connor Dear Mr. Frost, I do not think this path is wide enough for the two of us. There is a road you’ve traveled, that I’d like to tread; But, Mr. Poe, my rapid heartbeat is driving me mad with its unrelenting T H U M P I…
by Mitch Green Single, unattended – a body performs play. Inanimate, transient – lukewarm energy. Created, she’s careless – a vicarious peripheral. Tasteless, invasive – illusive principal. Serial, worshipped – doomsday Dillinger. Atmospheric, apparition – amble listener. Arsonist, artist – provocative division. Dainty, dependent – terrestrial human. Soiled, disheveled –…
by Libby O’Connor I raised my sword -a simple quill!- and poked each finger until the ink did spill upon the page, I swirled the ink and bent them to my will, and from the words upon the page, my inky callus did swell.
by Mitch Green She’s a bed banger bent bad. A naughty navigation mapped out in a maze, made to blackout the shapes in our minds. she’s a complex, gravitational God magnet disarming the dark of air. A Dyson sphere soaking up our sections less scattered, for our salvations most shattered….
by Libby O’Connor I step out in the pristine snow and think, ‘a blank, white page,’ my footprints trail behind me as I travel onward, they punctuate my blank, white page -with essence of me.