Author: admin

THE NEW NORMAL? BY JOANNE JAGODA

Why does life still feel like a wobbling Jenga game? Pull out the wrong piece and it will all fall down. Did I dare think we would spring back to Before COVID-19, return to normal with a wave of a magic wand? As if all the...

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FLAWLESS BY JOANNE JAGODA

The sky a flawless blue, that kind of August day, that gets under your skin. Scaffolds holding up the heavens bracing against celestial infinity. Feels like the heavenly court is looking down on me, demanding a reckoning. I look...

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WORD PICTURES BY CORA MCCANN LIDERBACH

She came from a family of fast talkers, but her mind moved faster than her tongue. She was quick to the heart of a matter, quick to sympathize, quick to draw conclusions but quicker to draw, pencil scratching faster than words...

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RAFT BY CORA MCCANN LIDERBACH

I want to float downriver in a raft of otters— belly up, pup nestled on my tummy or wrapped in seaweed as I hunt for lunch, to hold a small, sleek paw in mine, nap the day away, thick pelts protection against the wet of river. I...

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PREMONITION BY CORA MCCANN LIDERBACH

Gulls slice the air, wheeling, calling The moon dips into a sky-blue sea All my senses tingle We walk the lake at sunset The moon dips into a sky-blue sea Clouds drift by—the trees bare We walk the lake at sunset I tremble at...

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THE SOUND BY ANDREW PELFINI

I love the sound of church bells reverently reverberating at dusk— Like birds they rely upon each other’s call. I love the sound of church bells. How they bounce off window panes on Italy’s narrow streets– peek...

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THE GREEN GLASS BY ANDREW PELFINI

Luther couldn’t seem to stop drinking Brandy before bed. He would take his favorite green glass made in the forties and pour himself a couple ounces—maybe three and take the first sip in front of the kitchen counter, then turn...

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A DOUBLE LIFE BY SUSAN MANNIX

They were in the inner pocket of her coat, between two slices of moldy bread — in a pro-tective plastic bag, of course — the nuclear launch codes. Angela walked through the streets. One hand was holding her tattered wool coat...

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SHIFTS BY SANDRA KOHLER

I wake thinking about death and compost. Because we’re old, because I’m frightened for myself, my husband, my brother, his wife, their daughters. The day feels like a Friday, a Saturday, a Tuesday, a day unlike...

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