A Moment
By Eli Ehrenpreis — I heard a poem as a train approached. Swaying while it moved toward me, curving left and right along the tracks, filling my visual field.
6 days ago
28 May 2016, 10 days after Your death
By Daniel M Zibman — Pollen floats, settles on the deck, driveway, cars, brick walkway. Footprints from the pups, tire tracks. The birdhouse, the one sitting in
May 9
What I Told My Legs
By Lissa Perrin — I never liked you. You’re short, sturdy, and hairy, requiring daily maintenance. You're like my mother's, built for comfort, not for speed.
May 3
"Johnny"
By Jeanne Andrea Di Grazio — I found your old toothbrush with the faded, frayed bristles and a half-used tube of Colgate in a tattered plastic bag in the
Apr 30
The Sacker of Cities
By Daniel J. Davis — My sweet Penelope waited for me. That's more than some men can say. She waited while I took my time coming home. I am still finding my way.
Apr 27
Too Big
By Mae Stewart — Nothing chews up Wellies like city sidewalks, so I purchased Doc Martins, a size 10 for my humongous feet. The artwork on them
Apr 24
The Night I Learned to Hold My Own Hand
By David Anson Lee — “You will survive,” I whispered. Not brave. Not certain. Only needing the words to land somewhere that would not move. Outside, a stray dog
Apr 22
Seeing into the Heart of Things
By Brenda Jacobsen — I’ve been thinking about journeys. I walked part of the Camino de Santiago in Spain last year with two friends. Walking 100 miles
Apr 19