Valentina Gnup Life Doesn’t every front lawn have a marble buried somewhere beneath the Bermuda grass and the memory of the child who hid it there with dirt stains on their knees and a promise to come back. Valentina Gnup, a retired English teacher, lives and writes in Oakland, California and randomly updates her website […]
Read MoreValentina Gnup Confession When you ask how I take my coffee, I admit, I don’t get out of bed for the coffee, I get out of bed for the cream. Valentina Gnup, a retired English teacher, lives and writes in Oakland, California and randomly updates her website www.valentinagnup.com.
Read MoreKashiana Singh Grandma Grandma disappearing in the serpentine shadows of her own body. When Kashiana Singh is not writing, she lives to embody her TEDx talk theme of Work as Worship into her every day.
Read MoreTimothy Daly A relatividade do erro, vista do quintal Se eu salvar o passarinho do gato faminto, quantos vermes pagarão a minha compaixão com a sua vida? The relativity of wrong, seen from the backyard If I save the little bird from the hungry cat, how many worms will pay for my compassion with their […]
Read MoreRyan Brennan Tell Me a Story That comes together better than the two sides of her lace white dress that she’s summoned you forward to zipper Ryan Brennan hasn’t read Blake, Whitman, Keats, or Dickinson.
Read MoreJames Hamby Orpheus Scorned We all know the story– How Orpheus looks back too soon, with but a foot upon the top stair, and how Eurydice fades back into shadow, leaving her lover with unspeakable heartache, yet how much more so my pain to find you never loved me, that even had I descended to […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar The End of the World The end of the world was a story we told ourselves to help us sleep, and some days it happened on the beach, with all the usual smells – peanuts and grilled meat, scented oils, salt and bodies rolling in the sand, while other times we saw a […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar Ten Thousand Steps I am walking now, trying to make ten thousand steps before the rains come and too many words spill down the canyons of this wild place where nothing hurts but the muscle in my back, the one that telegraphs weeping songs to green and wind-bent trees. Steve Klepetar is so […]
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