By Noeme Grace C Tabor-Farjani “What is home quarantine? This is the voluntary “home isolation” of individuals, without signs and symptoms, who came from COVID-affected countries for the past 14 days.”—Bureau of Quarantine, Philippine Department of Health beer, window seat / at dusk, open sea breeze,peach and purple sky, / the 80s playing by aContinue reading “Quarantine Day 12”
By Noeme Grace C Tabor-Farjani for Dorcas, a friend, on her birthday What do I say? / A thousand words said / over and over again. / What else do I say? / Except the unknown, / unheard, unseen, maybe. / But what can be hidden / from the light that you are? / ThatContinue reading “What Do I Say?”
By Megan Cannella driving some backroad until it turns highwaydriving illinois until it turns iowa fishing an old antidepressantfrom the bottom of my bag sitting shotgun and heavy enough to trick the airbag sensors into thinking this purse is a life worth saving Learn more about Megan in her bio on the Featured Author page.
By Megan Cannella need to escapeneed to arrivebarely seeing or being seenam I moving at all? need to arrivefogged-over, pre-dawn Nebraska fieldsam I moving at all?tire to pavement, jagged rhythms of home fogged-over, pre-dawn Nebraska fieldsbarely seeing or being seentire to pavement, jagged rhythms of homeneed to escape Learn more about Megan in her bioContinue reading “I-80 East”
Caged-Tiger the Tide Pools Early Taboos Learn more about Becca in her bio on our Featured Authors page.
By Elizabeth Janczyk Long nightdress, loosely hung. Soft red flannel, slept in and worn out. Floating over tired bare feet, puttering across the cool kitchen tiles. Patio lounger with reheated black coffee, and Sunday’s paper, scattered. Morning sun warms plaid fabric sleeves against aging, freckled skin. The same faded sleeves I clung to After aContinue reading “Ma’s Nightgown”
By Michelle Rochniak I raise my ancient staff up to The heavens and invoke the name of Mercury. My messages of tolerance ring through The air, and I lie down on seafoam meadows. But the ground breaks away, and I am left with Clumps of dirt and grass falling by my face. Unforgiving world, youContinue reading “Mercury”
Young or old, no preference told, as death rings the bell. . Generations past, none built to last, as the histories will tell. . No matter the stage, or burdened the cage, all have a soul to sell. —
When we enter the ephemeral Nail salon, we are struck By her naked, acrylic nails, tapping against the glass. Another: her pantyhose hugs against her folds, Slicked up with sink water as Taught by her mother’s mother’s mother. On another, mouth slightly agape, she naps While her feet Are scrubbed raw of their histories. YetContinue reading “Watering Hole”