I had never heard anything quite like it before, yet there was something familiar about it. It was almost songlike, this noise, punctuated with agony and mournfulness.
Where is Love?Michael McQuillan
An aspirational God is manifest in an infant’s birth, the sun's warmth, a shoreline’s rippling waves. It appeals to conscience, evokes compassion, succumbs to the primal force of base behavior. Order and chaos, hope and longing, love and indifference recycle themselves.
The PlaylistM. Betsy Smith
I knelt in front of the oak cabinets, the knees of my jeans instantly saturated by the soaking wet carpet. I was so tired, but I had to get his record albums out.
It was during one of those Rockford Files car chases on TV that Mrs. Leonard Y. Silver knocked on my door. I didn’t hear it at first because Mrs. Silver’s three knocks coincided perfectly with that three-chord banjo stinger...
The HeaterMicaela Edelson
It’s late October and the cold has begun. Normally, the winter comes, the world freezes, and by the Spring, the frigidity of dormancy melts and the earth is reborn again.
A Journey TogetherHasan Abdulla
Roland Harris felt as though the wind was piercing through his grey woollen overcoat, one April day, when the sky was overcast with clouds that seemed to threaten to pour down rain onto Kings Cross Station and its surroundings.
The Path to Enlightenment and the Crazy YogiKabir Mansata
The city of Calcutta lights up in the month of December, especially for the bourgeois families. There is a social event every evening and bars and country clubs are filled with patrons eating and drinking copiously, dancing till dawn, and overall having a gala time.
When He Was OneKathleen Siddell
Shortly after the funeral, (whether it was days or weeks, she couldn't say), Helen found a small jar containing six dead yellow jackets at the foot of Harry’s unmade bed. When she asked, Harry told her, “Bees can see faces..."
Marrying UpNicole Jeffords
Frances first saw Jack in the winter of 1947 at a debutante party. He was with a blond-haired girl whom Frances later found out was his cousin, and who left him alone for most of the evening.
Follow MeBrian Schulz
At first Lindsay thought the beat-up F150 and overloaded U-Haul trailer parked in front of her brother’s building belonged to Northeastern students moving out, but then she recognized the old oak drop-leaf table wedged precariously on the back.
In Simple TermsMark Mrozinski
She sits still in the café, thinking about his words. How can he do this to her, to them? She watches Jeff’s eyes looking for a tear—something, but there is nothing, not a clue his heart is suffering. She thought he loved her.
“Lifeboat in the Apocalypse,” “The News of Your Death” and “The Gift of a Green Scarf”Kathleen Holliday
I haven’t always wanted to be
in the same boat with them
but when the time comes, I hope
there’ll be room for me in that lifeboat
“Break Time,” “When Dying Deer Appear” and “Crawlspace”Robert Rubino
Maybe you’ve lost
with your country
with a loved one
“Fur Coats,” “Gargoyles” and “Chamomile & Jokes about Good Band Names”A. Smith
Commutes are the distances between
events. Some days I’m stuck with these
Black Mountain hipsters, pissing off
their North End balconies even on
“November Cloak,” “Between Being and Doing” and “Toilet Talk”Karen Carter
Auntie Jane’s blanket,
attic stored, air cloved,
with her knitted cable yarn
she hums a morning tune.
“A poem should be read all at once,” “The truth” and “A taste of ourselves”Khaled K.E.M.
To enjoy his selected poems
he only reads the first stanza
before going to bed
and keeps the second one
“Moonless,” “Ars Poetica” and “My Mother’s Stories”Ana Pugatch
From the window of the faded ranch
I watched a bird floating in the kiddie pool:
a loon, with its reticulated band of stars.
I knew which bird it was from the tilt
The Serpent PapersJeff Schnader
A small truck stood curbside in front of a narrow store; a florist was taking delivery as I approached. The shop’s metal cellar doors, normally flat and flush with the sidewalk, were opened and upright revealing the steps to the storage area below the shop.
Stumbleweed ValleyStephanie Sandmeyer
“Isn’t there some other way we can go?” she asked, looking warily at the work crew only a few yards ahead of them. She buried her hands in her muff, although she wished she had insisted on taking the reins. It was, after all, her horse and carriage...
The Ruler of the ArmyAndré Fleuette
I woke in darkness and cold and listened to the keening of the wind as it tore at the walls of the staging building where we had taken shelter. It became known as Walaka. The Storm. The phrase, that word “storm” is inadequate.
Everything about this day has felt different from the beginning. It all started when her mother made bacon and eggs for breakfast. They usually only have bacon on Sundays.
Battle CreekBrad Neaton
They were raised in the same town but could not have been more different.