By: Julie Worsham If I’m being honest I wake up each day filled with apprehension Am I the right one to do this job Am I capable of delivering this lesson? If I’m being honest I wonder if a day will ever come when I actually reach youYou staring back…
By: Kristal Peace More and more Often now, The oak tree in the center of Our yard inexplicably Begins to weep. Every day, for two weeks, Its branches sag, and its leaves cascade To the ground, like the stream Of a waterfall, drenching the entire lawn. But It is Summer,…
By: Adir E. Golan Maery MacTauthenach followed the fading footprints that stained the snow crimson. With each step the snow revealed a deeper, darker imprint. Bleeding. Maery padded faster. Whoever was injured had to be close, the dulled prints had changed from boots to narrow stretches of furrows. Crunching snow…
By: Jon Epstein “Baba!” my granddaughter Bailey hollers from the bedroom. “Can you go in?” I ask Kelly. I’d just sat in front of the fireplace with my first Saturday morning cup of coffee and an ice pack on my back. “She called for you,” Kelly defers. I pull up…
By Casey L. Covel Heroes don’t get sick Icons don’t need pills Warriors don’t have cricks Saviors don’t get chills Iron on my tongue Needles in my skin Asphalt in my lungs Anguish in my grin Fading like a spark Every breath a bid Cringing in the dark Smiling at…
by Lisa Harris Her early life was a fairy tale, and a journey into the land of Moses and the Israelites, and a daily closer walk with all things Jesus. It was a history lesson on the Methodists and John Wesley, a renegade Anglican with some good ideas. She heard story after…
by John P. Kristofco Sometimes she remembers those who come;sometimes she does not,her dreams blur with world she really sees: “I made doughnuts at the stove last night, before the men crawled from the pantry with their guns.”She sits inside the complex of a hoarder’s life,storing things forever from the thief who…
by M. Guendelsberger My brother Pete was the one to find it once that dry tape finally gave way and the photo drifted down to the black and white tile of my dead grandmother’s basement floor. We had been stacking the chairs on that table, flipping them upside down so…
by John P. Kristofco Sat there smoking, reading texts,her old black car purring in the chill October air,dark hair swept to shouldersrounded like the hillsidesshaped by years behind that wheel;the wrinkle of her mouth,shadows at the corners of her eyes,skin that caught the yellow morning light,lips too thin, it seemed,…
by Gil Hoy I walk behind you, Allen Ginsberg, under the bright neon lightsof your California supermarket. I worry you’ll turn, bite my neck And suck out my blood, while yawping hysterically. I am America’shomophobic store detective and you are under arrest. America apologizes for your headache self conscious. You, for…