By: Jim Bates “Sorry to have to tell you this,” Doctor Jensen said, not looking all that sorry, “but you’ve got celiac sprue.” Celiac what? It sounded serious. “Am I going to die?” I asked, cutting to the chase along…
By: Sterling Warner I: First Dysfunctional Confession “Bless me Father for I have sinned; this is my first confession,” I began, knowing I’d correctly uttered my lines. During the past few days, I practiced delivering mock confessions to my brother…
By Hayden Sidun For the seventh time that day, the wooden cuckoo bird came out of its birdhouse and sang its typical song. Terrence often thought about what an appropriate title would be for such a beautiful song. Perhaps the…
By: Chandra Shekhar Dubey Rain, rain bringcoolness of your showersto scorched plantssilent and sultry.Rain, rain bringyour torrents to earthparched and thirstyin restless summerto sprout the grass,ferns and dry leaves.Rain, rain bringrelief to toiling farmersto put seeds to fieldsto grow cropsthat…
By: Bill Kamen Killin’ time, sippin’ a beerAt a boardwalk bar by the seaThe jukebox playin’ visions of loveMy mind drifts away to a girl on the beachSwayin’ to the sound of the wavesA glow on your face as bright…
By: Richard LeDue At Least the Dead Don’t Need To be Shushed My second job interview was easysince I had found a grantthat paid over half my wages,so I spent a summer in a libraryputting books back where they belonged,but…
By: Blessy George THE PUPPET MASTER The puppet master held his fingers tightAnd I fight, a hopeless fightAgainst my dreams, against my burning desireFor freedom, I stayAlas! The way money can control youAlthough it hurts knowing that the ironIs melting…
By: Stephen Kingsnorth What of Ravi, Sunil? Pencil moustache, bike perched as frame,common boyhood smiles about,and bright, bright eyes hiding nilsave haunting heads that never willmeet again as growing lads. Here, Ahallabad, green college fields,the only common ground, for meCambridge,…
By: Wil Michael Wrenn Absence Sometimes I think I hearyour footsteps, but I turn,and you’re not there. Sometimes I think I hearyour voice calling out,but then I wake from my dream. Sometimes I think I hearyour laughter, but it’s onlythe…
By: Joanna Marsh Tony Birch is an Indigenous Australian Author who has won an array of literary awards. He writes short stories, poetry and novels. Dark as Last Night is an anthology of short stories with a telescopic focus on…