By: Shamik Banerjee If We Meet Again When many Springs and Autumns have gone by,Amid a concourse, should we chance to meet,Will we ignore the moment with a sighOr stop to see each other: smile and greet? The heavy husk…
By: James Aitchison Is it really a right-handed world? Are left-handed people forever to be judged as second-class citizens? The Latin word for left is sinister. The French word for left is gauche. Small wonder the odds are stacked against left-handed people;…
By: Harrison Abbott Apparently my uncle had had another of his suicidal drinking bouts and he needed help sobering up. I drove over to his house. And found him walking along the road, raging at the planet like a maniac….
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…
