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JUST WAIT BY TANSY JULIE SOARING EAGLE PASCHOLD

Do NOT stick your broccoli all up in my cheese sauce. If you are going to push my buttons, have the decency to hold off until you’ve gathered your ducks all into one row, swept your leaves all into one pile, de-toxify your...

ASHES BY TANSY JULIE SOARING EAGLE PASCHOLD

The evening sky is a royal blue grey, an eerie striation from steel to cornflower blue lined with a furrowed brow of clouds blowing treetops flat and swirling anything not heavy enough to be held down. At home the ashes from my...

MAKE SENSES BY TANSY JULIE SOARING EAGLE PASCHOLD

Link your hyphae to my fingertips oh fungal spore, and join me to the foot of every rooted giant; let us make senses, create the very fiber of nerves that convey the essence of what it is to feel the ochre and mahogany, tawny...

PAYING THE MOON ITS DUE BY CYNTHIA PRATT

It might have begun this way: each night wolves hunted, the moon their guide. Sometimes large, sometimes a sliver: enough light to teach them night is night, a good time to roam. Moonlight is a time for food and family, and...

OBLIVIOUS TWIN BY CYNTHIA PRATT

You won’t speak up and I can only guess why. Such is the case of a doppelganger who only shows up at the bus depot’s west side, the one nearest the blue, oh so blue hanger that holds the transport vehicles like a tight cage. But...

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JUST WAIT BY TANSY JULIE SOARING EAGLE PASCHOLD

Do NOT stick your broccoli all up in my cheese sauce. If you are going to push my buttons, have the decency to hold off until you’ve gathered your ducks all into one row, swept your leaves all into one pile, de-toxify your...

ASHES BY TANSY JULIE SOARING EAGLE PASCHOLD

The evening sky is a royal blue grey, an eerie striation from steel to cornflower blue lined with a furrowed brow of clouds blowing treetops flat and swirling anything not heavy enough to be held down. At home the ashes from my...

MAKE SENSES BY TANSY JULIE SOARING EAGLE PASCHOLD

Link your hyphae to my fingertips oh fungal spore, and join me to the foot of every rooted giant; let us make senses, create the very fiber of nerves that convey the essence of what it is to feel the ochre and mahogany, tawny...

PAYING THE MOON ITS DUE BY CYNTHIA PRATT

It might have begun this way: each night wolves hunted, the moon their guide. Sometimes large, sometimes a sliver: enough light to teach them night is night, a good time to roam. Moonlight is a time for food and family, and...

OBLIVIOUS TWIN BY CYNTHIA PRATT

You won’t speak up and I can only guess why. Such is the case of a doppelganger who only shows up at the bus depot’s west side, the one nearest the blue, oh so blue hanger that holds the transport vehicles like a tight cage. But...

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