by Amy Covel The future isn’t built On empty words Or broken promises Nor even the mistakes of the past But on the actions of the present It’s what you do today That will change the future Mend the present And put to rest The past I’ve heard it said…
by K. M. Frantz On the eve of your fortieth birthday, I sat and glanced at the chalkboard hanging on the wall adjacent to my chair. On its surface were colorful reminders I’ve left for my family—usually things pertaining to our day-to-day. Occasionally, I’d give a welcoming shout-out to a visiting…
by Robert Kirk Scott Under the bed, in the dark, he remembered what it had taken to get him here. He remembered leaning back into the scratchy upholstery of the train seat, looking out the window at them, as the train lurched forward, ready to roll south. He didn’t believe…
by Elizabeth Penn Liz tapped her foot, checking the clasp again on her seatbelt which was pulled tightly across her gray pencil skirt. She tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear and smoothed down the lines on her floral blouse, trying to relax. Everyone had just finished loading the…
by Chelle Royal The sounds of the ocean rush through the opening of a seashell, capturing the memories of a seaside village within its soul. Infinite sunsets witnessed, lives reincarnated, countless Atlantic baptisms, sandcastle turrets, precious keepsake of a summer spent in the sand. A shell blasts from the barrel…
by Elaine Granados I am escaping into the hallway, letting #401’s door thud behind, closing on heavy heat open windows could never lift and the constant smell of black beans cooking, on sirens and horns of Koreatown (before Starbucks and Target on the corner), on the buzzing in my head,…
by Amy Covel I’ve become accustomed To eating alone Out of little glass jars While I stare out the window And count the stars The heavens know That one lonely soul’s Not a constellation Of a crowded table All alone.
by Terrence Litwiller Of all the benefits I’ve encountered since moving into “semi-retirement” earlier this year, the one I am most grateful for is my mornings at home with my now 20-month old grandson, Liam. My wife and I are blessed that for this time period he and his mom…
by Jaclyn Knaus On broken wings Shattered Bruised Dancing through the storms of life Without an ounce of hope left Lost Alone Afraid With nowhere to belong In a family that the butterfly Once called her own Abandoned in a cocoon of hatred Ostracized Shunned An outcast from her own…
by Darlene Holt It was April of ’86 when the blood moon murders began in Madison, Georgia. Before I met my wife, Charlene—hell, before I could even legally drink—back when life was simple. Or so I thought. My buddy, Chris Higgins, and I were taking some “easy A” elective on…