By: Jim Bates I’m a third generation Neon sign repairman. I live in southwestern Minnesota near the town of Wells in a singlewide trailer on land my great grandfather farmed. I live with my son Conner and I’m teaching him…

By: Rehanul Hoque If light is lifeThen VIBGYOR is the secret codeOf life, that speaks volumes forExistence. Daubed with a paintObjects and beings become colorfulAs much as to declare‘I exist’.On the contrary, the absence of colorMakes life dreary and drab…

By: David Leonard “I’m telling you this bitch will blow us both,” Devon told his buddy Tommy just before huffing one of two lines of coke he’d just finished meticulously chopping into as fine a powder as his debit card…

By Harrison Abbott He didn’t seem like a degenerate when I married him. He used to be sweet and funny. We tried to have a baby; I couldn’t conceive, and I think he was silently angry about that. In our…

By: Carolyn Adams Seeing her, or his, body always startles.The contours are generallythe same, with a fewunique differences. Faces, with theircomplex expressions,hide what won’tbe givenwillingly. But that landscapeof the frame,warm, soft,inviting and blameless planes,can’t keepdeep secrets. Vulnerabilities are exposed. The…

By: K. A. Williams Don’t Stay Indoors In The Springtime Squirrels run down oak trees and siton their haunches munching acorns.Fearlessly, a mockingbird darts inamong them to snatch a big grasshopper.Butterflies of many colors flutterhere and there with the breeze.Hummingbirds…

By: William Teets Man, listen. You can petition the Lord with prayer, but that’s not going to change anything. And deep inside Joey knows that, even if she doesn’t admit it. She is well-aware her prayers, sparking votive candles, isn’t…

By Hayden Sidun My dear Margaret, Too much time has passed since you departed this world. I’m writing to you to apologize. I only wish you understood the kind of stress I was under to make ends meet. I was…

By: Amrita Valan Himadri squeezed out a cup of lemon juice. Carefully crushing two tablespoons of fennel to a fine soft powder. When the chicken had finished cooking in its own juices, to a delectable golden-brown, he sprinkled the spice…

By: Nathan Leslie He’s that weird kid. He’s that kid who smells like moss. He’s that kid who dangles chicken necks off the dock for hours at a time. Nobody knows that kid. Why wouldn’t you want to mingle with…