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 Bonnie Lykes The consignment shop is only a yard from vicious traffic. It doesn’t seem fair the sweetness of so many grandmothers and dear uncles suffers the exhaust. Flimsy tapestries, shaky wood shelves, a nickel cooktop, beaded wallet, a painting of post-modern ladies fanning fans all crammed up, orderless….
by Joseph V. Kleponis I Two monarch butterflies, Four orange, red and black wings, Violate tiny wild violets. II Two towheaded boys, Toy pistols in hand, Charge down the hillside. III Two milkweed seeds, Crazy lost snowflakes, Bend tips of blades of grass. IV Two…