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Monthly Archives: September 2015
Five Poems by Richard L. Gegick
THE OCEAN Tony’s been a cook here ever since he was placed in the renewal center over a decade ago. Twice a GED failure, he can barely read, but knows how to cook a steak, how to work hard, show up on time. His … Continue reading
The Mad Farmer's Wife Delivers the Foal, poem by Rita Quillen
It is the turning I most remember: Just another ordinary day I woke and looked out the window. The mare stood with the colt half out of her, Membrane still completely intact. I ran like a warrior, butcher knife in hand Stabbed into … Continue reading
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Two Poems by Tiff Holland
Saltines We was all afraid of that bridge, just ropes and slats, spaces between where the crick came right up at you if you looked down at it, and Billy, that’s what we called him, after the fairy-tale, squattin’ underneath. I … Continue reading
Transformer, fiction by Benjamin Soileau
I’m fiddling with one of those transforming monstrosities that toy companies make just to drive men like me crazy. It’s some kind of dinosaur that turns into a speedboat and I’m looking down at it, turning it this way and … Continue reading
Triadelphia, WV, poem by Jay Sizemore
The hotel room seems damp— cold as the West Virginia sky, a certain kind of humidity left behind in the empty space that light can never fill and that only the nostrils can interpret as moisture in the atmosphere of green carpet and comforters. … Continue reading
Roulette, poem by M.S. Lyle
You move around the house, a cord attached to that spot on your back that no matter how hard you try to reach, you cannot reach. At the other end, the chamber. And you are so small; you heard the doctor say … Continue reading
Big Red Cap, fiction by James Leary
Not so long ago there lived a young man who suffered greatly at the death of his father. The young man, who became known as Red Cap for the old, dusty Marlboro hat he always wore, was loved by all … Continue reading
Frogball, poem by CL Bledsoe
We couldn’t afford bats so we scavenged, broken lengths of PVC pipes, crooked sticks, hands, if that’s all we had. Likewise, instead of baseballs we used pinecones, dried cow pies, rocks. One kid started catching frogs and smacking them into … Continue reading
not getting served at the subway inn, poetry by John Grochalski
not getting served at the subway inn ten minutes before this we were still in the hospital room watching my mother-in-law wrestle with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich just something, the nurse told her to get in her stomach to take away … Continue reading
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