Judith Salcewicz Celebration I fasten the clasp on the pearl necklace from my twenty-fifth anniversary, don the dress I wore to my daughter’s wedding, and light the candle that casts a warm glow on the single place setting of my good china. Judith Salcewicz is grateful for the technology that keeps her connected to her […]
Read MoreJohn Grey Walking Home in Winter It’s a damnable thing, this light that may as well be dark, that suspends the distant cottage in an evasive, erratic glare, that casts dispersion even on my slow trudge back to all I know, taunts that, beneath me somewhere, lies the ice I’m bound to slip on. John […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar Late Because our train was diverted from its usual stop we had a long walk across town but we couldn’t find the right house so I had to ask directions from a tall man with a straw hat and by then we were so late I could hear search dogs howling beneath the […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar Waking Waking blind in a blur of snow, into sky trembling like water in a storm, to the radio telling news of fires and smoke pouring through canyons, to armies marching over a snowy field, to weapons scattered across the hills, to something scurrying over the roof, to crows startling the gray air, […]
Read MoreGil Hoy Shopping at 500 Stalls in Market 28, Downtown Cancun When you’re anti-social, with a dynamic, welcoming, alluring wife who delights in shopping, it’s like a Stephen King novel, in halogen lights, with one million bulbs. Gil Hoy is a Boston poet who studied poetry at Boston University. Hoy’s poetry has appeared, or will […]
Read MoreErica Goss The Rites of Solitude Let these be the rites of solitude: to keep the mind clean as a lighthouse, as if it were a sanctuary alive with our collected blessings. Erica Goss writes poetry and prose in a house on a hill in the South Willamette Valley.
Read MoreCatherine Lazăr Copilaş Thinking I don’t speak English, my neighbors gather in the building’s stairwell to complain that my baby cries too loudly. Catherine Lazăr is a Dublin-based writer and administrator, originally from New Jersey.
Read MoreEli S. Evans Dinner What I like about the janitor is that when he comes to empty the trashcans in my office in the early evening and looks out the window behind my cubicle toward the field where all the geese have gathered, he licks his lips and says, “Dinner.” Eli S. Evans has just […]
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