Latest Posts
Falls the Shadow
by Courtney Patkau The truck has become a safe place, a calm place where silence doesn’t seem so loud, where tangible emotions are weaved into the fabric of the seats—boyfriends, music, the stale cigarettes lingering from previous owners and occupants who didn’t think...
Burn
By: Justin Jones Everything in this world makes its debut in darkness. But with all life comes the dawning of light, which provides us with the gift of knowledge. On hands and knees we make this world our own; our insight ever vigilant of what's new to come....
The Worst Part
By Brian Joye You are 10 years old. You come home every day from school and chug two bottles of soda. Your thirst still doesn’t go away. You tell your mother, and she just tells you to drink water. Water will quench your thirst better than soda. You follow her advice,...
What Gets Left Behind
By Angela Pilson By the end of spring break, I’ve had enough of Judge Judy, Dr. Oz and ornery, cranky grandparents. My mom and I have been in Florida since Friday morning, and although I have not seen them in two years, I am exhausted and fed up. When we arrive in...
Nature Wakes
By: Marita Rahlenbeck Nature sings as it wakes up from winter slumber It shouts and calls for rebirth The birds tweet and caw and tease They sing and chirp and flit The trees are ready to sprout their leaves for another season The grass is ready to turn green and lush...
Tragedy, Comedy, and Cupcakes
By Dylan Magruder 140 lbs. The summer soccer camp at Furman University made me fat. That is, quitting the soccer camp after five days. On that fifth day, the college students teaching us showed us how to make goals. They lined us up behind a yellow dash painted in the...
Kitchen Religions
By Lois Carlisle The most mysterious thing about my mother was her white recipe binder. She would send me to pluck it from the baker’s rack when I was a little kid. She spilled past me in the front room after she returned from work at Mary’s, a catering company in...
The Pieces of First Grade
By Anthony DeSantis The first day of school. I told my teacher, Mrs. Beckman, that I wanted to grow up to become a doctor. She said it was easy to follow my dreams. I only had to finish my homework every night, make straight A’s, and never pull a feather. Feathers...
Dear Paul (Poem for an Old Boyfriend)
By: Keddy Outlaw I wanted to tell you about how I saw you walking down the street in Montrose one cold March day, your long hair blown back, your red & black checked jacket loose and open. I drove around the block & back again but you were gone, but you...
Show me you love me
By: Praise Ndlovu Show me you love me by your kiss Let your lips take me to utter bliss Hold me tight in your sweet embrace Can you hear my heart’s increased pace? When I’m away from you there’s one thing I miss The way you love me by your kiss Show me you love...
King Larry
by Janet Richards Larry smiled with darting eyes, his jaundiced teeth glaring against the swarthy tones of his face. The heightened intensity of his movements signaled to everyone in the office that it was time for a smoke. Forty- five minutes had passed since his...
Making Waves
By: Alex Mosier The Older I become, the harder it seems to go back there. A fresh out of school young woman teaches as I sit and watch. I can see it, her voice, soft and sweet. I can see the sound waves pouring out of her strangely shiny lips; snakes deadly...
All Mothers Are Working Mothers
By: Owen A. Macleod My mom and I packed into the Jeep Wrangler, and made short conversation through a few stop signs on the way to my high school. I usually walked to school, but on the rare occasion that my mom gave me a ride, we usually jabbered about school work I...
What She Held
By: Tiffany Farr Grasp What a domesticated animal humans feign to be. Determined by splintered veins in the palms. Muddied protection. A wolf entrapped a buck between two rocks, but the deer skewered the wolf with two antlers longer than the wolf itself. All in...
Forward
By: Julia Hogan What if it were all revealed— the magnificent structures of gravel in the rail bed, the cracks in the wooden ties. When they were knitted together and why you could not last another moment. We followed the tracks past here, past lazy suburban slums,...
Joey’s Hand
by Tim Leeming The last few words of the Monkee’s “Daydream Believer” floated through the dark room as Jeremy Kendall blinked back the drug induced sleepiness from his eyes to see the dimly lighted red numbers on the digital clock indicate 5:30 a.m. The drugs were...
