Silent Night, by Mary Liza Hartong
Winter was still holding onto spring like a child who refuses to leave her blanket at home.
Thirteen, by Rebecca Foust
I was thirteen, and there was a boy’s mouth / where my legs met.
by Janice D. Soderling
One day he was cock-of-the-walk, full of jokes and juice, strumming his guitar, waxing the big fins on his red Chevy, knowing another woman in the biblical sense.
by Lois P. Jones
Because you are strong. / Because your branches span out ahead of you. / And in so many years, age has allowed breadth to match height.
by Sarah Hina
Brake lights on a highway. Not her favorite sight. It must be an accident. Or road construction. Either way, it wasn’t right. Not when they were so close to home.