By: Carl Papa Palmer Ollie Ollie Giggling, she runs from the family room couchwhere I sit and count, both hands over my eyes.“1,2,3,4,5 and 5 is 10. Ready or not, here I come.” First, in the kitchen, opening and slamming…
By William T. Hathaway Now is the season when priests proclaim, “Peace on earth, goodwill towards men” and mainstream media soothe us with stories and images of kindness. But why do peace and goodwill remain just dreams? Why is kindness…
By: Linda Barrett I. “Dudley’s Stella. I know what you’re talking about,” The e-mail read. Mirabella Reid gazed at it, sitting back in her office chair. Only eight words. Her boss walked past her with a sidelong glance. “Are you…
By: K.E. Semmel Twenty years ago, during my aborted attempt to get an MFA in creative writing, I submitted a story for a workshop. It was about a middle-aged man who witnesses the neighbor’s teenage babysitter having sex with her boyfriend—an experience…
By Michael Lee Johnson Ghost I Am Here is a private hut staring at me, twigs & branches over the top— naked & alone. I respond to an old 60s doo-wopsong: In the Still of the Night Fred Parris and…
By: Suchoon Mo so long agoin that small townso far awaya young man was playing a violinaloneSarasate’s Gypsy AirZegeunerweisenin that small house so long agoa raging civil war cameand a young man diedshot by a firing squadthe young manwho used…
By: Carl Papa Palmer The ringing interrupts watching the football game.Both phone and remote sit on the couch beside me,I grab one blindly, hit a button and my TV turns off. Finding my phone I listen to the recorded message.Some…
By: Jim Bates Across the cosmosJupiter shines and ignitesA flame in my soul. Cold windy gray daySleety rain changing to snowTurning gardens white. Almost like a dreamThe moon rises casting lightSo gloriously. Magic autumn lightGolden electricityRe-charging the soul
By: Ann Christine Tabaka Empty Nights whispers in the darkall that is left of our lovereaching out for youyou are no longer there– empty nights Time the boisterous rumbling of a kittenall too soon becomesthe muted purr of old age…
By Domonique Onefirst night in Europe. kind Bordeaux breezea vista of the city . .feet firmly planted feeling like stonesTears fell from my eyes and down my cheeksbut there was no cathartic rescueor release. I felt an acute longing to…