Author: admin

I DON’T KNOW HOW BY CLAIRE SCOTT

I don’t know how he does it Oxycontin days, Seroquel nights spent in spasms of pain I don’t know how he does it doctor after doctor sighing and turning away, after ablations, infusions, and off-label drugs don’t work I don’t...

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DO THE DEAD THINK OF US BY CLAIRE SCOTT

Do the dead think of us as much as we think of them do they picture us with their first cup of coffee, their last cup of tea have they taped our photos to their mirrors and fridges do they have tender memories of our times...

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WHAT A MORNING BY CLAIRE SCOTT

A blue rubber ball rolling down a driveway me on my morning run a child rushes after it heading into the street a red Honda hurrying toward her the girl focused on the ball I grab her and pull her away gouging my knees the...

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SILENT STRUGGLES BY JOAN LEOTTA

Long black feathers, tips splashed with blood lay scattered, strewn across my lawn this morning. I didn’t hear any raucous caw-caw-caw, so I realized that the fight among crows or perhaps a bloody struggle of crow and...

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TWO WITCH FAMILIES BY MAUREEN CLARK

Between Chattox and Demdike no love was lost, “for whom the one favored the other hated deadly.” Thomas Potts the feud began so far in the past no one remembers      why it didn’t help things when the Chattox family stole the...

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BLAME BY MAUREEN CLARK

The common people really did believe that witches had the powers attributed to them, based on a simple cause and effect logic. Ronald Holmes blame could light a blaze in sawdust turn a whole town witch crazy there was no need...

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THE WELL TOWER BY MAUREEN CLARK

Prisoners were tried in batches Philip Almond in the oldest part of the castle a large vault at ground level then a long     rough stairway to the dungeon     where in 1612 they were chained     for 3 months waiting     for...

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NUEVO UNDERGROUND BY MARCUS WILSON

There is a boy down the street whose dad can’t emerge from the basement during the daytime for fear of being deported. I am not a cop but my white-ness breeds uneasiness. Young eyes peer precariously at me when he holes up at...

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NAMELESS BY MARCUS WILSON

on our way home from the clinic we stare blankly out the window too exhausted to cry the clouds appear as crumpled tissues pasted hastily to the surface of a chalky blue sky as if curated by the mind of a child, given only...

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