Author: admin

THE KITCHEN TABLE BY LINDA S. GUNTHER

  1963. The Bronx. The kitchen smelled of matzo brei and cheese blintzes from my Nana’s cooking. I sat cross-legged on the white Formica kitchen table in the dark; my skinny 10-year-old body hunched over. Over forty years...

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WAITING BY SALLY ZAKARIYA

Waiting for you in the rain gray clouds / gray thoughts I watch raindrops dance on the pavement meld into puddles iridescent with oil Waiting for you in the doctor’s office clean / calm / quiet I contemplate the human body...

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ON TIME BY SALLY ZAKARIYA

  Time was, is, aside, apart We’re the ones who sliced it into hours, stacked days into months and years while time stood by Above, shining round in the heavens, sun and moon were our first timekeepers their seeming circles...

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THE DAY YOU DIDN’T LEAVE BY RACHEL R. BAUM

Here is the subway platform launching daylight into scrub brush and desert night. Follow the nomenclature. Arrive blank-eyed stoic hurting barely female. Lose your place in line. That man there cut you off not even a glance at...

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C IS FOR CACTUS BY LAURIE KUNTZ

The cactus in your August garden, there for over a decade, blossomed its yearly magenta orb the same time that a flower of cells inside your breast multiplied. No sweet red flower surrounded by spikes to ward away an enemy, but...

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GREENBRIER LAKE BY TOWNSEND WALKER

Cuz of Ginny, Wes was out here by the lake. What’d happened last week. They’d been drinking and dancing at the Blue Spot, mixing it up with friends, like most Friday nights. When the large stranger emerged by the bar, hadn’t...

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INFATUATION BY CORINNE WALSH

This morning the sky is a soft pale pink between the horizon and the clouds — her shoulder is exposed and there’s the full moon, unwilling to let the night go. As the colors soften like slow music, and the sunrise dance...

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WILD MIRACLES BY MARIANNE LYON

West of town, sixty years ago butterflies arrive like meadows of flowers sail high in Rocky mountain air on some majestic crusade Gram takes my eager hand we follow the butterflies off rooted path she tells me to watch for...

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HANDLE BY CYNDI CRESSWELL COOK

“Hey, Liar!” I’d pulled my new car over to the right to talk to a neighbor named Jim. The mail had just been delivered, and my friend Jim was walking across his green lawn under the sweeping branches of a maple tree, thumbing...

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