My Broken Brain, by Angie Ellis
I keep a list of songs I know well, so that if I get dementia people can reach the real me hidden inside my broken brain.
Ode to a Bee on the Small of Your Back, by Partridge Boswell
Blind to what tickles the delta of nerves there / you rub a humming with the back of your hand
by Kevin Couture
The men waited on the shore while Susan, (whose son they searched for), made coffee on the tailgate of a half-ton.
by Andrea Witzke Slot
The odor of stale hotdogs coils / around this truck stop of quiet men / who sit with faces bowed, bath kits / in laps, fair-like tickets in hand.
by Rustin Larson
Prism vase, asters blue as glacier ice, / baskets of strawberries, croissants, / goblets lit with orange juice, / & the cathedral distant, the boat house / flying its flag in an international zone
by Joseph Gross
Then there he is again— / the Suit of Lights, all / epaulets and reluctant pink and gold, / back in the ring.
by Chris Connolly
At the supermarket I see a young mother gently weeping in the cereal aisle. Her baby watches her curiously, possibly stumped by this reversal of roles, or too young to understand.
by Laura Golden Bellotti
Our ten-year age difference seemed vast to me, not to him. It was lunch—our daily lunches at the small French restaurant across the street from our office—that bridged the gap.
by Emile DeWeaver
Writers’ processes differ, but here’s my truth: Writing is hard and I hate it; revision is easy, and I want to take it to the movies, then get to third base.
by Roxanne Lynn Doty
If anybody follows me call 911. I live in apartment 12 but don’t go there if somebody stalks me. I should stay in a public place like Taco Bell or Walgreens.
by David Salner
The chrome-colored clouds / pushed the heat down, held in the car fumes, / the smell of the asphalt. Out on the patio, / I was ready for work
by Lauren Yates
There is something about traveling home that stops the blood. / My womb becomes a howling dog warning me of danger.