Raymond Luczak Bump in Front of Mrs. Kichak’s House Whenever I raced down on my banana bike, I always swerved around it— it was a landmark of sorts, nameless and unmapped yet easily identifiable from the kitchen window overlooking Oak Street, so when I heard the city of Ironwood had slit open that bump to […]
Read MoreHannah Mahoney Bloopers I watched one of those video compilations of summer mishaps—kiddie pools and diving boards and water slides and someone going to jump dive slide swim and ending up all wonky—and laughed once or twice in spite of myself, but lingering afterward is that moment when things change from fun to not, and […]
Read MoreMark Jackley My Father Is Drinking Gin and Reading a Detective Novel Eyes closed, paperback pressed against his chest, he is breathing slowly in the dark as mysteries whisper through his Banlon shirt into his unsolved heart. Mark Jackley‘s poems have appeared in Sugar House Review, Fifth Wednesday, The Cape Rock, Talking River, and other […]
Read MoreLillian Hallberg Conundrum I wonder, if we turn our clocks back one hour, will our shadows lag behind? Lillian Hallberg, dean emeritus of an MBA program, enjoys reading, writing poetry, trave, and living in Boston.
Read MoreMike Wahl COD Purchased in good faith by accountability and an astute understanding of life, he bought the farm. Mike Wahl finds an occasional smile abandoned by the roadside as litter.
Read MoreDavid Jibson H²=8/3 π Gρ Mathematics which few of us understand proves that while we are standing still the space between us is expanding, pushing us further and further from everything in the universe, friend from friend, mother from child, lover from lover. Having grown up in rural Michigan David Jibson now lives in Ann […]
Read MoreLarry D. Thomas A kindergartner asked me if a crow is a crow because it caws. Larry D. Thomas, a regular contributor of poetry to our sister Right Hand Pointing for many years, is a member of the Texas Institute of Letters and served as the 2008 Texas Poet Laureate.
Read MoreLara Frankena A Few Words About Summers Past Somewhere in the sands of Coney Island where we threw flip-flops at teenage boys who sang Casper, the Friendly Ghost in tribute to my fair skin, where the Cyclone trumped a cup of coffee for Sunday morning pick-me-ups, where young men turned young women upside down to […]
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