by Philip Jason
I will always remember that night
when you told me you were never going
to die, that your father had been a god Continue reading
by Philip Jason
I will always remember that night
when you told me you were never going
to die, that your father had been a god Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Bronwyn Hughes
The rusty Texaco star clung to its pedestal above Main Street, welcoming me back to my hometown. Beneath, a brightly painted visitor center had displaced the long-defunct filling station where we used to smoke cigarettes. Were they expecting tourists? I strained to see the bones of Mobjack Courthouse under a veil of self-consciously cute updates, like sidewalk bump-outs planted with native seagrasses.
Filed under Fiction
by Paula Goldman
Filed under Poetry
by Cait West
This is your hand—dried, cracked, bleeding on a January day under a muted sun. At rest on your book, it twitches in sleep, and your glasses have fallen down your nose as you lie stretched out on the floor, too busy to sit on the sofa. You’re too impatient to rest, but your body has taken over anyway in this forced sleep while reading. It’s just like when I was a child, and you would fall asleep while quizzing me on my phonics. You would make up stories in your sleep, and I would crouch down next to your open mouth and wait for the words to whisper out. Continue reading
Filed under Nonfiction
by Katie Kemple
In the Sprouts parking lot with my teen, hands balancing
soap, sunblock, a bag of rainbow gummy bears, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry