by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
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…
