Latest Posts
War
by Anthony DeSantis After she retired, Mrs. Quaid only belly-danced andsat on our patio with us and her husband.They werehillbillies from Appalachia.No one knew why they moved to the suburbs of Florida. It didn’t matter where they lived, though. Mr. Quaid still played...
Learning to Kiss in the Snow
by David Tarpley she: I love him. I think I… I do… Yes, I definitely do. He makes me laugh. He is a thoroughly reliable man. (Safe.) He is always on time. He is good to me and my family. He even mows the grass. So why is it, that when I look at him I feel...
Faith
By: Marquise Jones Faith I have high faith, i have arrogant hope My faith is the only thing that helps me coop To understand i have blessings to come Even when i think the evil has won But sometimes this maze is to hard to solve I feel as if some problems cant be...
Time to Ponder
By: Teresa Morrow As I take time to ponder I let my mind wander Are you watching over me now? I think of those moments we spent And how much it meant Do you remember me? Sometimes I wish On those times we missed Why did you have to go? I miss you...
The Pool at 84 South: a Memory, a Fear
By: Anthony DeSantis A boy and his mother undulated over the chlorine sea and an exact moment: learning to swim, remembering breath. Only the sounds of liquid existed. They reminded the mother of when her child crafted waves in the bathtub by hand. She taught...
Promises by the Sea
by J. Chris Lawrence and Agnostic Zetetic Shuffling through an old shoe box, my hands seize on the smooth surface of a postcard. A chill brushes over me as I gingerly caress the laminated surface. Staring into it, memories stir the hairs on my arms like a ghost breeze...
Creating Your Path: Accepting Your Destiny
By Paula Pitts On January 7th, I turned my moving van into the rental company at the end of a warm day, went to eat at a local place here in Georgetown, and picked my daughter up from our new neighbors. Heading out to Pawley's there I had some peace and sense of...
Film Reel Memories
By Emily Knott I took a photography class during my sophomore year of high school. For each assignment, I borrowed a thirty-five millimeter camera from the school to shoot a reel of black and white film. I couldn’t drive, so most of the photographs were taken around...
Saturday Night at the Leaches’ House, Tuned to BBC America
By: Lois Carlisle Sunk down in the couch with Jon in the recliner next to me. A red-head’s missing years playing out before us as though on a stage but somehow more ethereal. Hazier. Far more so than standing in the bonfire smoke behind the house, pulling shoes off...
Hand Me Downs
By Susan Silver “My mother is a poem I'll never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to my mother.” - Sharon Doubiago My fingers moved furiously across the page. Moving with strokes trying to stay between the grid in front of me. I remember tracing...
Sharp Tongue of a Short Life
by Alex E. Mosier “Everyone has their story. What is it that made them who they are. What situations, circumstances, this that and the next thing as well as their reaction that shaped them into who they are. I don’t argue for a second that these make you who you...
Home
By: Nandita Karambelkar Growing up alone, he spent his childhood under the pear-ripe leaves of trees, watching a river or two flow by. His only friends: the black and blue-coated moths and baby ants that crawled over his knuckles. What made others the enemy to...
Bound by Eternity
By: Grace Dudley The suffering you must go through I guess I never really knew Caught up in my own life to see how deep your pain must truly be Confusion and dreams are all I had You gave me joy when I was sad You walked me though my own trial yet you were hurting all...
God’s Drug
by Angela Pilson “How was your first week?” Cali counted the seventy-sixth ruby square on Dr. Harvey’s shag carpet. For a doctor, he had odd taste. She raised her brows at him, thicker and uneven since they won’t give her tweezers. Her lungs sighed and she cleared her...
Breakage
by Elaine Kehoe You first noticed it in that restaurant in Salt Lake City. Sitting at the bar, waiting for a table, you heard the sound of a glass crashing behind you. You started, looked at him and he at you. “Someone’s in trouble,” he said. You nodded but didn’t...
A Different View of Prison
By Bridget Sampson Chatsworth, California, May 12, 2006 “Gotta interview a guy in jail,” my husband says. “Wanna come with me? “ “Jail? Me? I donʼt know, Neal. Well…maybe.” I reread a few of the articles I give my students. Relevant passages scream at me. Drug usage...
