By: Christian Ward Cinema The first film I sawat the cinema was Mastersof the Universe with DolphLundgren and Frank Langella.I was seven and bored,wanting the minutesto scurry like mice. I startedpicturing a western insteadof the drab ‘80s movie:Saguaro cactuses intimidatinglike…
By Harrison Abbott I was in home economics class in high school and there was this scary, chronically angry teacher called Mrs Grierson whom we all had to respect, for some reason, despite her shouty aggressive ways. I was bad…
By: Karoline Wimmer “How do you identify? Do you feel more Austrian or more Indian?” my grandfather asked me last week during our family lunch. I had not anticipated this and was silent for a minute as I contemplated my…
By Frank Kowal Less than one year after I had retired from a full-time teaching position in the New York City school system, the Covid-19 pandemic hit us. But as 2020 progressed and the pandemic began to wane,…
By: David Pike Standing around,waiting for somethingto happen,used to beas exciting as it would getduring adolescent years,small town style. All the whilelife went onas it always did,with little to report,and days and weekswould driftinto something or other,or nought. But it’s…
By: Carl Papa Palmer a computer, dad like going to the libraryonly quickerwe can stay right here not a TV, a video monitorto watch what is typedview search results it can’t see you, dador hear youno need to whisper okay,…
By: James Aitchison Poetrychanges the shapeand substanceof memories.Circling truths,exposing them,crushing them.Until nothingremains ofthe original.Not one jot.
By: Charlotte Cosgrove Roman de la poire The first time the heartcame out of the bodyAs a tokenIt was cradledIn the hands of manGifting his affectionWith a pear.He mustHave been sweatingLonging forThe sumptuousnessOf the fruit.For her to takeA bite.Peel the…
By: Aleksandra Lekić Vujisić Walking I am walking on the needles of past livesThat fit so nicely in the portrait of my pain,I am holding onto sparkling memoriesThat never wanted to hug loss and shame. I am leaving without any…
By: Jim Brosnan When the World Was Silent Beneath the milkyshadows of a blue moon,I cautiously follow youas we hopscotchthe beige bouldersof the breakwater.We stop to watchreturning lobster boatsheading to port,the hum of diesel enginesfilling the August airbefore we sit…