Author: admin

Not a receptacle but still we can use it to hold a certain construction of memories, the year the word roadie became official, the year we landed a man on the moon and countdowns became famous. After Woodstock, after the riots...

I exhale into the body. I blow again, more forcefully. I chase down the corridor of breath but the chest does not rise. I try tipping the forehead back and pinching the nostrils shut. My hands are too small. Desperately, I will...

Two nursery catalogs and a condolence arrive in today’s mail— a good ratio: two peachy-purple promises of spring to a single inky rendering of water suggesting eternity. Why do we assign pleasure to only certain of nature’s...

For Thomas A. Thomas Thomas posts his photo of two fern fronds, matched, with corners angled, almost touching. They form a small spade of emptiness at the center of the image. A spade that pierces and digs. Light and shadow,...

I wear a disguise that looks just like me that’s the point no one can tell I am a person trying to imitate a person that left long ago   Claire Scott is an award-winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize...

She faded away not because he turned to look the myth has it all wrong she didn’t walk behind him out of deference or misplaced misogyny but out of ambiguity pulled by both worlds the bounteous world of grains and flowers and...

Do we need a new language words perverted by politics misused, tinged with dark bruises like rotting apples weaponized, like the word woke slicing our country in two words used as dog whistles communicating in code such as the...

Say a midnight owl hoots a helicopter hovers a coyote slinks past headstones in a night of PJs and false promises say a mother drains scotch to forget her heart’s holler say she leaves contrails of hurt no hugs, no sandwiches...

I close my eyes and see a blackened doorway with light bursting through the edges I am drawn toward the light pulsating with energy with the single question beckoning what life lies behind that single darkened doorway what joy...

I long for the day when each morning can begin with meditation and writing with no alarm to rise no schedule to follow no clock to wind just the longings of a single heart falling onto the page drip by drop alongside my tears...

right about now in mid-February I start dreaming of spring the first crocus harkening new growth new life the birds beginning to make their nests in the nearby trees for their eggs about to be laid the trees starting to bud with...

writing in the dark morning by candlelight and shadows the mysteries of life are somehow closer at hand pixie dust conjoined with fireflies rising from the bonfire’s...