By: Ryan Quinn Flanagan He put on the movie of my grandmother working in the garden, grainy black and white from before I was born and yes – she was young once, even beautiful I touch my face and feel hers:…

By: Charles X. Madruga   The midnight ceiling of my unconscious celestial dome caves in, becomes invaded by slivers of silver light. A blinding alarm clock, like curtains being swung open in the middle of a vacation. My eyes follow…