Amanda Laughtland Classical Art I wish I could paint the glow of this row of streetlights through the moon roof of your car while the moon itself half-hides behind the gray, graceful columns (doric, ionic, or corinthian?) of the overpass that will take us to the karaoke bar where the line to sing will be […]
Read MoreEric Burke Patient At sunset, he sits on the easement, broken death mask in his hands. Eric Burke programs computers and writes poems in Columbus, OH.
Read MoreRoy Dorman What’s For Lunch? After having been together for more than fifty years, it’s his first morning without her, and though there is pancake mix, as well as eggs, syrup, and cooking oil, he sits at the kitchen table, with no company except for his grief, eating cornflakes straight from the box, and staring […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar A Story I’ll tell you a story about a frog and a snake and a tree that grew by the river’s edge, how that tree leapt up into light, its branches wound through the canopy, how the green frog listened, heard the tree’s roots sucking moisture from the earth, and it watched the […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar Early Snow Today apples tumble as wind tears them from trees, and they bounce and roll in the dying grass as though you were here again gathering fruit with your calloused hands, your enormous eyes half-closed coming over the hill bringing the early snow, you who crossed the border, who passed into darkness […]
Read MoreChris Bodor Fish Story Exiting the Chinese restaurant with our after-movie meal I decide not to rescue the exotic fish, leaving them to swim in the tank while I continue to make choices between love and fear. Chris Bodor writes and dreams and works in St. Augustine and occasionally meditates on “The Shape of […]
Read MoreLaura Foley Flowers in a Ball Jar I see in the B, her generous swirls, her upward curve, the everything’s alright of Barbara-with her fine cigarettes, glasses of wine, the aroma of bread she toasted for me, dripping with butter, bubbling cinnamon-the jar with her name, Barbara née Ball, my mom, and spilling from the […]
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