Author: admin

Here take these pieces of my life shards of injuries, some still bleeding rough-edged disappointments fragments of failures. I offer them to you, knowing they could injure us both. But share with me your flaws. Then perhaps we...

After dreaming Before waking Cinders of an extinguished fire Dot my eyelids, then Escape, leaving Fissures in memory. Guests gone with no forwarding address Haunt the dawn. If stars could talk Jar us with a bright Kind of...

peach cobbler history gets baked leavened, over-salted too many hands try to knead honeyed honesty gets assaulted. two ovens overheat as the eggs start to hatch rollers revolting as the chicks peck the latch. no master chef is...

Not a word but a rumble inaudible to humans, soil set trembling by beastly vocal cords. News passing miles away to the soft foot pads of a browsing herd that pauses for translation. Water hole alerts to fire and predator, shouts...

Our eyes meet over a $20 bill thrust through my car window into his freezing fingers. His other hand waves a paper sign scrawled with homeless veteran. A cloud of his frozen breath dims a faint smile and a fainter thanks. I...

It’s what you name when someone asks where you’re from. Like an anchor that holds your life against the drift of time and space, your point of origin offers clues to the jigsaw of your nature. You see the world through the...

Writers receive them blank, unlined, like snow that dares us to mar its pristine surface. They suggest we dash our poems off in the white heat of inspiration instead of hacking them out in fits and starts with cross-outs,...

THE LEAVES THAT REFUSED TO LEAVE BY LIA NIZEN There is something conflicting about the season of Autumn. The way the leaves fall away from their mother tree, gracefully trusting the wind to take them where they need to go. It’s...

He soared ever higher on his homemade wings easy gliding over the Mediterranean giddy as only a teenager can be elated to have escaped the dust of Crete the airless prison of the labyrinth and the spiteful wrath of old King...

She hums to herself as she dips her paintbrush blue, coloring the wolf the color of sky so he isn’t as scary. Not about to open his jaws and grab a little girl wearing a red sweater, like the one she’s wearing right now. She...

To be crossing Webster on Sunday at 11:27, swinging a Wilson tennis racquet thinking of the tournament his new topspin serve at the exact second a woman, distracted, texting, worried about her heroin daughter who didn’t come...