Keeping
Track by D.E. Fredd This
might be hard to follow. I use three by five cards or a
loose leaf binder. I’ll begin with Syrie Nathan, my
birth mother....
Lip
Serviceby Emily Bevan The
first bad sign was that he didn't look happy to see her. He opened
the door shirtless, in a faded pair of Wranglers and socks. He
glared at her without speaking. His bloodshot eyes ...
Squealby Tom Deiker Crumbling
bricks set long ago in a cruciform pattern, mazed by moss, tonight
blown slippery cold by dank air fleeing the sky's roiling clouds.
Three men crowd around a stone fire pit....
Johnny
Igoe, Spellbinder Remembered by Tom Sheehan My
Grandfather Johnny Igoe was a little Irish man. He stood a mere
five foot-six, but was a giant to me when his poetic voice rolled
across the lamp-lit porch floor. He always wore a felt hat...
It's
Just by Matt Smith He
shuffles across the lawn. His fists cram into his pockets
and his wet sandals toe the doormat. It’s cold for
March. He presses the doorbell. He waits. No one
comes. He presses the doorbell ...
