Fiction

Creative Nonfiction 

Poetry 

The Canteen
by L.J. Chizak
I am packing my bags to go back to college, my senior year, and Gramps is in rewind.  His doctors give him a couple of weeks; his family, me included, gives him a month or more. ...
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Two Short Shorts: Rory and Warrior Blood
by Douglas Cole
Rory was just a little off.  Something was wrong with his smile, which was crooked and never kind.  He was just a kid, like me, but he already seemed to know things about cruelty.  I don’t know that I could have named it...
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Bullies
by Karl Harshbarger
Casey saw them in the afternoon on his way home from school, two guys, both around 30, drinking beer and sprawled out on the steps leading up to the ticket office at the trolley station.  Their backpacks, sleeping bags and other things, were piled up on the sidewalk...
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A Pale Chanting
by Dwight Holing
The lie lay between them, there in the double bed beneath a red Maasai blanket, beneath the canvas ceiling, beneath the African moon dissolving into dawn. Outside, a lion prowled the tall grass roaring impatiently for his huntresses. The ground trembled from elephants steered by memories passed on...
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See Anything but Me
by Kristin Lieberman
“Would you like me to convert to Judaism?”
Laura smiled neatly as she poured Michael a cup of coffee on Sunday morning. Their son, Charlie, sat at the kitchen table spooning whole wheat Cheerios and two-percent organic milk into his mouth while squinting at the front page of the Sunday Times. ...
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The First Summer Funeral
by Alyssa Nedbal
I’ve never been lucky enough to win an eyelash wish. I pluck the fallen lash from my cheek, squeeze it between thumb and index finger, and then whisper to it; asking it to tell me which finger it’s going to cling to. Because if I choose right, whatever I wish for will come true. That’s what Mom always tells me. ...
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Good Morning, Mr. Kafka
by Mildred Pond
Dorothea tells herself that she sees in the dark -- more precisely, it’s like seeing through the dark. The change has prompted her to write a letter to Franz Kafka -- in her mind...
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Kiss and Tell
by Adelaide B. Shaw
have to tell mark shouldn’t have done won’t forgive was overcome strong emotions no no excuses that first touch phil stop remembering just his hand on my arm too ready that smile inviting voice...
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A Reading at the Library
by Ron Singer
Before I swore off them, I sojourned at four art farms, one of them, three times. I came to hate these places. Almost every “fellow” at the communal dinner table acted as if he or she were entitled to a blow-by-blow account of your day’s labors...
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The Red Glove
by Vivian Lawry
Roy owned the only drive-through funeral business in Maine. It was full-service, with 24-7 viewing hours, burial and cremation packages, and an array of funeral merch that included flower arrangements, grave blankets, Hallmark Lasting Expressions bereavement cards, urns for cremains, and commemorative jewelry....
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The Kite As A Metaphor
For Forgetting
by Paula Weld-Cary
Spring blew in and my brother put together a colorful kite, using balsam wood for cross braces, making the tail from a ripped, white sheet, then attaching the kite to a ball of string. The day was bright...
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Sneaky--a Poem
by Alyssa Black
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Michael Estabrook:
Ode to My First Girlfriend,
Angel,
Salvation
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Kathryn Guelcher:
Smoke without Fire,
Bird Sanctuary,
August 24th
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John Harper:
Elegantly Fading,
Why of I
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Duo—a Poem
by Srini Mandavilli
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John McKernan:
One Drop,
The Stone Mason Has,
Instructions on a Cheetos Wrapper
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Jean P. Moore:
Up on Church Road,
Amber Eyes,
In the garden of the biblioteca where I last saw you
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Rob Plath:
How to Communicate w/the Dead,
Clouds of Mercy,
my friend Moose
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When I Was a Child
by Sandra Rokooff-Lizut
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Wordless—a Poem
by Ken Seide
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Ian C. Smith:
Vistavision,
Unreconciled,
Impedimenta
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Martin Willitts Jr.:
In the High Hills,
Futagawa, Blake,
Even Into Death
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