by Parker Fendler They lay intertwined in the crib, Spencer gnawing on his Binky and Fred flicking his tongue. I’ve no idea how the seven-footer got out again, but ain’t this the cutest thing? I’d snap a shot for Roy, but he’d throw another hissy-fit. A dozen times he’s said…
by Lisa M. Gott Dried tendrils of overgrown grasssing out into the wind — We have a story to tell. Tucked beneath their blanket,spotted earth painted with blood and tears;droplets of dew encase secretsof battered and bruised indentionsfrom heavy steps scarring soil,but like a seashell, their cries remain;head to earth,…
by Michael McGrath When I received my first report card in the fall of 1967, I was afraid to bring it home. Unlike most of my friends, who had a collection of As, Bs, Cs—and the occasional D—to show for their efforts, the only grade featured prominently on my card…