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THE BEST ENDING IS BY ARTHUR GINSBERG

New England’s arboreal extravaganza– a palette of russet, crimson & gold all of summer’s succulence on display before the fall when the risorius muscle after the last gasp wears a smile called rictus the body’s...

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THE TYRANNY OF ICE BY ARTHUR GINSBERG

Once again the innocent die young, as rabid wolf packs roam across the urban landscape. People say this is the cost of borders, as if mercy is unaffordable, that brown-skinned humans have brought this ICE age to our country, to...

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SHINTO MUSO* BY ARTHUR GINSBERG

At the dojo, men and women in blue kimonos wield swords and long sticks (jos). A priest chants monotonously from the Sutras, punctuated by loud hand claps. Guttural shrieks erupt from sparring partners, as blades flash in the...

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OUR CABIN IN THE WOODS BY MARSH MUIRHEAD

When the tracks of the bulldozer came ringing through the forest and the tops of the trees shook and fell from sight, when the scents of shattered boughs, the broken heart of the oak, and the fecundity of lacerated earth swept...

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MENU BY MARSH MUIRHEAD

It is quite unlikely that this Virginia-baked ham really came from Virginia, and doubtful the applewood smoked bacon was smoked over actual apple wood. Also, dubious that these farm fresh eggs were laid by cheerful chickens...

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A LITTLE RAIN BY MARSH MUIRHEAD

Old friends are a little older now and a few have disappeared, but a porch is still a porch, a glass of wine a glass of wine, and maybe a cigar after the storm leaves us with another sunset as we listen to the little rain after...

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MY MUSES BY CHARLIE BRICE

Those dangerous, leather-creaking brutes— Cheyenne cops—growled, grinded down 16th Street, led the motorcade past my parents’ restaurant supply store where I watched the tarp-covered ICBMs, half a block long, hauled on flatbeds...

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TIME THIEF BY SHARON SCHOLL

There’s no thought of permanence no effort toward refurbishment of preservation or restoration. Every generation is bent on leaving no trace of the one before. They allow only tender memories to lodge in fading minds. The house...

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PENN AND TELLER BY SHARON SCHOLL

They play the children’s game of let’s pretend full of wily misdirection. Flashy props and stage effects conjure the illusions, but slight of hand and calculated movement create our amazement. Their skill is ancient, passed down...

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FIVE MINUTES BY MARK THALMAN

Five minutes is all students get to change classes, stop at their lockers, and use the restrooms. It’s enough time for me to take a few swallows of cold coffee, say hello to a couple of students, and write a pass for Alicia who...

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THE SIGNAL BY MARK THALMAN

Lisa shows up a half hour before the first bell. She has that “going to the dentist” look on her face like an actor who wishes they weren’t in this play. I try to put her at ease, “What can I do for you?” Lisa tells me she’s...

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