by George Bishop
Ten years after he died
I was homeless, driven by
those unforgiving faces
beer makes out of your
own. Ten years later, sober
and sort of trusting myself, Continue reading
by George Bishop
Ten years after he died
I was homeless, driven by
those unforgiving faces
beer makes out of your
own. Ten years later, sober
and sort of trusting myself, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Gail Wallace Bozzano
When the woman opened the door and slid into Kaito’s back seat, a smell crept into his cab: the smell of brine mixed with silt mixed with decay. A smell that has stayed in the back of his nostrils, in the back of his mind, since the day the wave hit Ishinomaki six months before. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Jane Flint
When power burns
through all within its path
its glow transfers
to the contours
of its kindling. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Cheryl Isaac
A cigarette held by shaky fingers
The coffee mug vibrates
Bombs explode in Syria
More dead in Nice
Thunder crashes in Georgia
The nerves tighten their grip
The saucer shatters Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Celeste Noelani McLean
It is the baby’s still birthday, so
I dust his urn with my fingertips
The only care-taking I do now
He is dead
The other children get my
Unremarkable busy-day parenting,
Utility of soft white sandwich bread and
Tight-as-you-can embraces Continue reading
Filed under Poetry