by Goldie Goldbloom
On either side of the halls of Heaven and Hell are the great glass-fronted cases displaying the glories of this world.
by Ciera Horton McElroy
We don’t know why he came. Ours is not a big city. There are no stadiums, no conference centers, no airport hotels to fill with hosannas. Instead, he has a folding chair at the farmer’s market.
by Anna Mantzaris
I started small. Bite-size cookies, mini brownies, tiny tarts and hand pies a 4-year old could cup like a fragile butterfly.
by Sean Gill
The boy begins by saying he has killed a spider, a Goliath among spiders, a monster dangling from the ceiling on a strand of gleaming silk, the grossest thing he has ever seen.
by Abbie Barker
Sometime before dawn, my son climbs into my bed. “The bat woke me,” he says.
by Ellen Romano
My mother has asked me if I see / wild animals around town. / She moves in and out of lucidity
by Justin Hunt
Pollen dusts our yard. The oaks, heavy / with seed, rake the past from wind, / and an old friend’s voice comes to me
by B. Fulton Jennes
Dutch elm disease took its toll / on the once-lush sentinel by our pond— / a titan I often climbed to the very top
by Pam Vap
a white lily / with sails of petals / above the pink blush on the weak stem
by Judy Kaber
It’s been a long two weeks and I’m ready to leave. / I ask myself: / Are you really the man I once married?