by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
by Thomas Griffin Crinkle-leafed prongs of summerphlox poke out of snow amidstwhiskers of seeds on the noseof ragweed shafts crab tree with a few dark rubiesyet to dropporcupine of stripped quincehead snowed under half-the-moon crown tiltstoward black woods rosy waves of clouds backthe fading sun falling behind trees— everything looks…
by Ann Hosler Your mangled face was bared to the crisp January air. Teeth and hair and debris scattered across the snowy road. Thirteen may be unlucky, but those long years together built a sense of trust and familiarity. Loose chunks of pavement secreted beneath snow deceived us as your…
by John Timothy Robinson The elegance of light through sconce-dust glass with swirled, transparent fingerprints in grooves is not as pleasing when the chill sweeps past, this image, so cliché, yet still as true. Six tiny candles flicker in darkness as frozen rain hammers tree-limbs to the ground. They said…
by Alita Pirkopf The chrysanthemum blossoms, heavily weighted, barely visible in snow, remind me of castanets held at the end of green-sleeved, graceful arms. Hands, fingers, clashing, clicking hardwood held by silk cord—my father’s magic and manipulation, when I was young, and he brought gifts from Spain.
by Don Mager Chunks crash from branches and sweat into the ground. Icicles drip until their hollowed fragility cracks and clatters to the sidewalk. From its cloudless tall Aegean sky, midmorning sun scans the wide expanse of thaw and wet. Only north side shadows of thick trunks lurk with small…
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.
By Lavonne Westbrooks Lying in grass, drinking blackberry wine I watch two hawks arguing territory with crow. Ee-ow, ee-ow, I call. They respond, settle differences; quiet descends. Never been to Spain or Africa or any Asian country, only London when I was five. I remember Father Christmas left presents on…