By: Kindaka Jamal Sanders TIME PASSES THE TUMBLEWEED Time passes the tumbleweedAnd lightning strikes the Noble FirThat once loomed large in goat marshThe noble part of what we were. But entombed it is in the way that we wereThe prototype…

By: Ruth Deming O, Beatricee! The day has finally arrived. We knew it was coming, your battle with multiple myeloma.   At first, at our weekly meetings of “The Beehive,” named for you and your nearly inexhaustible knowledge of pollinators…

By: Mahathi I LIVE AGAINAt sixty plus, I start living again.I fall in love, explore new love, attuneonce more my rusted old romantic veinand pull out of the clouds, the silken moon. Mistake me not, there’s no running behindthe belles…

By: Aya Naser Qadoumi Deep conversationsLong gone sensationHopeless longingTo something fading Deep confessionHuge concessionMet by disapprovalAnd denial of feelings Love oppressed,Denied till deadBut almost trueThat love to you Deep confessionReplaced by oppressionCountless effortsTo show the opposite You say you’re doneOf…

By: Alan Swyer What hurt Lenny Greene even more than his wife’s announcement that she was moving out less than six months after their twenty-fifth anniversary was the reason Betsy gave: “I finally found someone who makes me laugh.” For…

By: Anjali Paruvu  I cracked my knuckles out of boredom, even though I didn’t really know how you get the “crack” sound. I looked at Prerna on my left, who was either chanting a mantra or reading off formulas. I…

By K. A. Williams Her husband never cried. Not when his dog died. Not even when his grandmother died. Not ever. Paul was reading the newspaper and eating breakfast when the mailman shoved their mail through the slot. Liz picked…

By William T. Hathaway Shiva Rudra Balayogi In the Vedic tradition of India the feminine side of creation is given equal importance to the masculine. The Divine Mother, Mahashakti, is revered as the primal creative energy who manifests the deities…

By Eric Burbridge             Harris kicked up mosquitoes and rabbits scattered on his way through the high weeds on the side of the shed. He should be ashamed for such neglect. Marilyn mentioned it, but he ignored her. High winds…

By: Bruce Levine I accept who I am – I’m an empty bottle. Is that a metaphor for my life? I ask myself.             I’d just poured two glasses of wine for dinner and finished the bottle and, as I…