Smudging By Amanda Blake
I’ve kept the photo albums you sent not on a bookshelf inside my house, (There is no welcome mat for you) but in the pocket of my passenger-side door. No
Category: poetry
untitled by Devin Manning
your hands are chains i have never wished to break free from. they hold me firmly yet i couldn’t dream of being let go. your fingers glide slowly over every
Intersecting Planes by Carol “Jane” Hagen
Unable to find a horizon I once tried to dive into the sky at midnight there is no sign of where stars end and ocean begins I leapt too high
Prevernal Chesapeake by Carol “Jane” Hagen
There is none of the electricity of winter in the marshland spring rains. Instead, they roll in on the humidity, oppressive and swollen. The peepers are the first to announce
Leftovers by Alexandra Englehart
His crème brûlée is starting to grow mold, Cream and yolk separating Like he and I on the sidewalk that night, Slowly but steadfast, No chance of reconnecting. Our jambalaya