by Devon Marsh This is the kind of fire that will go completely to ash. No remnants of oak left in the morning when I sip coffee, rest my hand on warm bricks, and our eyes share a smile acknowledging how flames moved together and made sounds.
Posts Tagged writing
Cold Clichés
by Autumn Carter How many coffee shop clichés does it take to understand the delicious power of bitter liquid energy going cold in front of a myriad of caffeine enthusiasts? In the center of the air-blasted room, at the tallest, wobbly table, in an obvious sea of crop tops and…
Mister Golden
by Jon Pearson Bobo the hippo stood on top of the hill and mashed down all the yellow weeds. He stood all by himself breathing in and out with his big belly, because to be such a great big thing was the only thing he knew. It was like having…
Crow in Boots
by Cécile Barlier I seem like a perfectly normal person. No one suspects I count wiggling worms as I go to bed instead of counting sheep. Oh! I know! This is not a good strategy! You’re thinking, “Why is she counting wiggling worms when she can count sheep like everyone…
A Moment in Time
by Cyndy Muscatel Olivia couldn’t stay in bed. The silent coldness from the warm body next to her drove her out. It was past midnight as she crept down the stairs. The wind lashed against the French doors in her living room, whistling through the cracks. The sound was her…
The Smell
by Rahad Abir It was a fine morning on Sunday, the first day of the work week, and should be rush hour in Dhaka—loud and boisterous, traffic both on the streets and sidewalks, and different confusing lines of waiting-to-board people, occupying half of the streets. But today, the streets looked…
The Safford Sun’s Weekly How-To Column
By Cameron Burry “How to Pick Your Dream Profession” By Julian Flowers To find your dream profession, you need to find your passion. What is it that you want to do with your life? Why is that what you want to do? Do you only want a paycheck or is…
The Cowboy and The Ballerina
By Frank Scozzari The door swung open and the silhouette that appeared was undoubtedly that of a ballerina. The figure was sublime and had the fanning outline of a tutu about the waist. “Can I use your phone?” the silhouette cried out. Marge, the fifty-something waitress-proprietor looked over at the…
Sounds Heard on a Sunday Summer Night | Regret
Sounds heard on a Sunday summer night By Sheikha A. were not coming from the very far beyond shushering hiss of the sea, footsteps heard in sloshes and splatters growing heavier by each advance of the heel. I won’t talk or pine about the moon so white, glaring eye of…
Sultry Summer Storm
By Moira Crooks Come sit beside me on the deck The wood is fragrant and hot, the air Silent and holding its breath. Birds are hushed in the spindly trees and even the river is sullenly asleep. Violet orbs of sweetness await their fate, A few sacrificed to taste, you…