By: Christopher Johnson “Hey, Smith, yer T-shirt looks pink!” Larry Cuccinelli said, spitting out a laugh that hovered somewhere between playful and malevolent. He poked Paul in the shoulder. Paul was sitting next to him in the galley of…
By: RC deWinter give me some skin there you sitowning yourself magnificentlyso at home with who you are that’s irresistiblethe sight of someonecomfortable in his own skin no tricks no gamesno attempt at disguisecontent to just to be how did…
By: Bharti Bansal I have always fiddled with the idea of happiness;Of being like my mother; sacrificial and toying with this act of compromisesSo everytime someone showed me that I could be loved too, I ranI ran towards them until…
By: Leigh-Anne Burley April keeps her grandmother’scrystal and chinain a glass front cabinet.She cooks in battered pots and pans,washes chipped dishes and cups,hangs faded clothes on a line out back. Wonders if the red roosterperched on top of the peeling…
By: Aadi Desai I stare down at the umber river I stare down at the umber river embraced and blackened by the night the reflections of illuminated billboards lie on its surface. Here next to me, the prostitutes near a…
By: George Munyasia A Black Webbed Wasp There is a blackwebbed wasp fidgetingin the thick wintrylight, determined to freeitself.The predatordraws closer. The poor preyflaps the half-brokenwing one more time.One more time. ### In Memory of Victor Paled star of my…
By: John Sheirer Dream Vault Delia hadn’t pole vaulted since high school, forty-six years ago. But now and random then, she climbed the air in dreams, toes grasping upward, sun highlighting her gooseflesh legs. Her dream slowed each time just…
By: Sasheera Mehrani Eating is a habitual process, a requirement needed to thrive. Snacking, however, is a pastime, something we enjoy doing; some of us, a little too much. But, what is the difference between healthy, mindful eating and mindless…
By: Priya Chouhan WEDDING RING Curtains drawn, choking back the tears,loved him more than the love, my lips whitened. Curled myself into his arms, the scent of a beautiful bond fading,lying on the floor, with a heavy ring resting on…
By: Richard LeDue Old Poems Sometimes, reading my old poemsfeels like the closestI’ll ever get to time travel,as the person I used to besends a message through my present dayvoice, hoping to prove the pastmore than those moments one thinks…
