by Carol Casey The path is trodden, dusty, level.You know it will take youwhere many have gone. Step off—tangles of brambles,sometimes with blackberries,more often with little clawsthat catch on clothes and skin;and tortuous tree roots—inconvenient, sacred data unearthed—subterranean snakelets somehowsifted into snarls for feet to catch.There are stems that twine…
by Laura LaJoie Once we were friends I didn’t mean to offend Leaned in for a kiss I made the mistake to resist Young and naïve My innocence I now must grieve For he was cruel and impatient He reeked of desperation Hands gripped my thighs A wild look appeared…
by Mary Waugaman No. I used this word on purpose. No is definite. No is final. Words are power and I choose mine carefully. Which is why I said No. But you don’t respect my No. You don’t hear my No. Whether I have allowed it too long or you…
by Keryna Stutts Her hands were a blue-green map of work and tears of Sunday dinners of scrap quilts. She held the world when his pain became too much. Cracked then filled with weariness. Her hands became my world of fried pies after school, a cool softness on my brow….
by Robert Dinsmoor When I was four, my mother took me to see “Bambi,” a movie in which the title character’s mother is brutally killed near the beginning. I cried inconsolably. “What happens if you die?” I asked my mother. “What would become of me?” Her answer was as simple…
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…