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 Robert Sumner From an elevated lifeguard chair, Kip watches dozens of swimmers frolic in the community pool. A pair of mirrored sunglasses rests on his nose just above a smear of white sun block. Juneau hangs out below, leaning on the long metal poles that elevate Kip’s chair. “Did…