by Andrew M. Bowen A kitten breeze frisks through the trees,the sun shines clear and gold;bright colors, skirts above the knees,the autos hum like bees. And I must find a way to say:“Let’s leave in lightning bold,pack up our hearts in summer hayand leave this murky way. “Your eyes inspire my heart with fireand freeze my soul with cold;so let’s Read More
Author: Andre
Darn Dog Adopted Me Today
by Mary Ann Jacobs Sat on my porchSad eyes staring at meLike a pool of despairThumped his tailTake mePlease Don’t want no dogNever had oneDon’t know how toFeed himBathe himTake care of himDon’t want no dog Tongue hanging outLike clothes hanging on Granny’s clotheslineSlobbers up to meGoes under my handWants to be petted Don’t want no slobbering dogGo awayLeave me Read More
The Drone Pilot
by William Falo I guided the drone toward the three fox kits. There was no sign of the mother. I snapped a lot of photos then directed it back toward me until I saw someone looking up at the drone. Flying a drone in a national park was illegal. The fines steep. My hands shook and the woods began to Read More
Evolved Elephants
by Hibah Shabkhez “Elephants never do homework.” “Elephants never wear mittens.” “Elephants never wash their—” “What’s going on here?” I asked, taking in the gigantic baby-pink elephant freshly taped to the fridge, and the other, even larger one which was being filled in with a concentration and vigour only a six-year-old artist could possess. “After mermaids, dolphins and seagulls, the Read More
At 4am
by Danielle Salvadori dark deep wakingdread and dream entwinetrap me fracture menumb me surface to your breaththe pump of lungsyour slow breathslow rasp tree magpierattles gratesmarksnight’s end you hard breatheand turnthe firstgrey of day pull me nearskin heartvelour wrappeddespair dimmed exhaletogetherslideinto sleep Danielle Salvadori is a poet, photographer and video maker living in London. Her poetry has been published, or Read More
before her mother died
by Lisa Reily she didn’t know that her family was only held togetherby an old plastic Christmas tree,her mother’s pierogies,and homemade lemon cheesecake. she had always planned to make her mother’s food,but only ever watched her cook;now her hands were lost without a recipe. she didn’t know her father had never understoodwhy her mother had left him, even though he’d Read More
Explainable Earthquakes
by Tammy L. Breitweiser The fancy folding chairs are arranged in soldier rows facing the front. A movie theater of grief; only one showing. All sounds are muffled like there are bunnies lining the walls. Low music plays distinctive to a funeral home. You never hear it anywhere else. To describe it becomes impossible and lives in the same fog Read More
Our Celestial Dance
by Karen Walker Moonrise as he turns in the driveway. The old Chevy’s headlights scan the bedroom wall, a lunar landscape scarred by everyone who’s rented this shabby place. Down the hallway, the bathroom nightlight is a weak little star. It fades as he closes the door—damn toilet will run on and on—and then reappears as if clouds passed by. Read More
Visitation
by Tiffany Belieu Rainfall of tires on asphalt. Subconsciously,a count begins, un-mourned graveson the side of the highway. Guts the consequence of quickness.Creatures who leapwithout looking, spindly leg blown glass fragile, mar the pristinemourning gown of our drive time.Tragedy is an unfolded map in lap en route to an open casket.Lilies, a dozen ghost brides trumpetingmournfully from the backseat. In Read More
Winter Olympics
by Ashly Curtis My best friend and I ice skated on the kitchen floor,twirling off wooden chairs, gliding across tilein our pink ruffled socks. Salchows, Lutzes, evena rare triple axel or two. It was 1998. Olympic season.We held up handmade signs in the living room,blocky marker letters cheering on the figure skaters;Tara Lipinski etching beauty with her blades, carvingballerina. My Read More