"What if, in the case of the woman from the other side of the moon, it was not a matter of reality and its break, but a matter of dense imagination, the truth of other worlds, and the simple decision of allowing them to breathe into the mundanity of everyday life?"
Wake up to the cock crowing in the front yard. It isn’t even light out yet. Through your bedroom window on the second story of the farm house you can see the summer sky just starting to turn pink and purple at the edge of the pasture. You see one of the yearlings bucking around the fence waiting for breakfast.
The Woman from the Other Side of the MoonOlivia Lee Chen
She seemed a fairly ordinary woman, The Woman from the Other Side of the Moon. She came into the coffee shop every afternoon around three and ordered one of two things: iced tea with lemon or a small coffee with room.
The Not-WifeK. A. Hough
I pull the key from the ignition, replace my hands on the steering wheel, sit and stare at the windscreen. Tucked in, safe, away from the damp that arrived with spring. Fog in the city. Fog in the hinterland. Fog in the head.
The March Against DeathJeff Richards
I was standing on the steps of the Lee Mansion looking down on the crowds crossing Memorial Bridge and beyond that Lincoln Memorial. The crowd split and went to either side of the Memorial. It looked like a million people though I’m sure it was much less.
The HuntersAnna Kaye-Rogers
Her prey was close; she could feel it. Ochre Number 8 had been sold out in the greater Tri-State area her past two weekend shopping runs, but there had been a restock, she was sure of it. The lanyard-wearing woman behind the counter had told her there was a truck every two weeks. It was time.
The Bonsai TreeSara Wetmore
A few months ago, I gave up on my office dracaena. I’ll admit, it had been having a rough time. Its leaves had all nearly fallen off, its stems soggy, its color faded. Truthfully, I had been thinking of letting it die for a while. Not just gradually either. I wanted it to suffer,
Quantum Solidarity: Making Hajj at Bear LodgeKevin James
The mind-numbing atrocities at home and abroad dare me to respond. It’s as if world events conspired to belittle me, taunting me to try to make sense of bloodbaths by religious extremists with death machines improvised or designed. Perhaps it’s this very feeling of alienation and impotence that fuels the rage behind the headlines.
Penned InnDamon Piletz
The house tucked back So you’d never See its entirety unless You were on the towpath Which was exactly where She was trying to drop Those last twenty-five she’d Been feverishly struggling to lose
On the Way to Work – RelevancyPiper Templeton
On the way to work, Shirley Lamothe stopped on her porch to pet the new cat. She had ceased naming the felines long ago. The strays tended to congregate around her modest, wood frame rental house because she put out dishes of food and water and allowed them entry into the house if they so desired. They kept her company, as Brian stayed mainly sequestered in his tiny boyhood bedroom,
July 8, 1927Paul Luckhart
The wildfires burning in the city’s outlying regions were said to be the worst anyone could remember. A cloud carried through the streets, softening colours and dulling the edges. The features of structures and people were made indistinct, and all that was visible was what was near. I thought of glimpsing something I was not prepared for, like a monster jumping from outside the frame in a horror film,
AutumnW. A. Schwartz
There’s something wrong with my hands. Lately, I’ve taken to squeezing them into fists—grasping at something—at the most peculiar times. When I’m checking out at the grocery store. Facetiming my daughter who is away at college. Making love to my husband. My thumbs ache and I’ve noticed the knuckles on my right swell to the size of cumquats in the morning. When that happens, I hide my hand.
An Unwelcome GuestKit McCoy
Paul placed his finger on the pulse of his home in the dark of night to feel the soothing and generous spirit that surrounded him. His children had been dead tired, his wife irritable, and he was aching to be alone so that he could wonder about the melancholy that crept around the edges of his trip
Cacophony of instruments rudely disrupt the silence in my ears & claim the space as their own to live and thrive. First, the saxophone with its tang & pang & variety & what is. Piano, forte, mezzopiano repeat. The tongue pitter patters on the mouthpiece, embouchure tightening its hold, showing no signs of regression yet soft and silky.
“The Fish” and “Anecdoche”Brittany Leitner
with its last breaths.
I forget it only “breathes” in water,
but just the same...
“Strangers in the Same Land”, “Jyoti” and “Circular Haiku Circle”Emily Parker
You don’t know me; but,
I am so excited to speak with you.
at once the same…but different.
Divided by violence
Splintered and torn from one another
“Silk-threads”, “Amma” and “My Brother’s Garden”Babitha Marina Justin
in my homeland little girls and
grandmothers are knotted with silk-threads
grandmothers walk nimble-footed
to the past, careful not to fall into
little girls traipse on it, tumbling
on fantasy and sport, daring
“Decay”, “Falling Through the Ice” and “Coping Mechanism”Tia Cowger
Rose oil, sandalwood
and lavender—poured over
honeycomb piles deep in
rumbling woods. Bare feet
missing twigs, silence heard
but for birds, and low hums of
“Apocalypse Now”, “Overlay” and “View from the Bridge Over Finch Creek”Jeffery Greb
Some move through the deeper pool
without stopping while others
pause to gather strength
for the shallows ahead.
Those that make it over
the gauntlet of stones buried
by water that would not wet
a cuff thrashing their tails
mightily making waves