Bread Knife
Mama and Barry mashed lumpy boiled potatoes into furrows with their forks, spread sour cream on top. I hated it. Mama cooked this every night, except the weekends when we had stringy boiled chicken.
Writer’s Choice
Relation Ship and Other Poems
Relation ship of fools, the two of us set adrift squared to the sea, no rudder, no captain, no sails to see us through,unclear who is looking ahead the other behind us, just us. There were others but now just us asking…
An Interview with Angie Abdou
Writing from the heart, writing as an act of radical empathy, and writing without urgency. Angie Abdou is a Canadian author of numerous…
Neon
Dave looked at the neon sign in the corner of the bar window: ‘DEAD END.’ Even though the name…
Writing Myself Alive: An Episodic Poem
Writing to keep calm Haiku in the seminar Villanelle at dusk Desperation firmly anchored in the stormy sea of…
Prayer
Lisa worried her way through the second round of in vitro and the resulting pregnancy with Stella and Jackson. Our first in vitro…
Slowing Down
Dr. Mica Monroe crossed the kitchen with four clicks of her six inch heels and opened the refrigerator door. Twenty one neatly stacked…
The Crash
“My father liked to work with his hands So much so that it created calluses on his palms and he survived solely on manual labor…”
The Hard Way, Kid
DEAR OLD WEST TECH, WE’LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU. It’s the opening line of my high school…