Archive for the ‘March 2008’ Category
Letters to My Leg
| by Karen Aschenbrenner |
The large bonfires blazed in the harvested cornfield, fueled by dried leaves, mulch, and the novelty of celebrating Samhain in northern Wisconsin. Around them, my friends and neighbors stumbled through strathspreys. The filtered warmth from the bonfires overheated me, and I retreated to my wool blanket spread out under a willow to take my prostheticRead more…
Waiting for Spring
| by Len Bains |
She stands in a quiet corner of the necropolis, waiting for Spring. All the corners are quiet at Pere Lachaise. One hundred acres stand packed with the dead, faded cheek by dusty jowl, mausoleum by tomb, grave neighbouring cenotaph, sepulchre tight against monument. A high wall seals away urban Paris. On one side Citroens vieRead more…
Quiet Play
| by Adrienne L. Clarke |
September 12, 2004 Dear Julia, I am writing to you from home now. Sitting at my own desk with all of my books around me helps me to feel calm. It’s funny how much I used to hate writing letters, but since the accident I can’t seem to stop. I much prefer putting my thoughtsRead more…
The Choice
| by Amy Robleski |
I count the semis on lonely mornings, sitting on our back porch in Pyletown and thinking of what might have been. The road dust sticks to my dark jeans, and I think about how I wouldn’t be in this God-forsaken place if it weren’t for those damn trucks. If it wasn’t for one damn manRead more…
A Time to Every Purpose
| by Carter Nipper |
I felt like a fraud as I approached Haven in my robes of blue trimmed in silver, a child playing dress-up. The scabbard holding my sword sought to trip me with every step, my staff resolved to leap from my sweat-slick hand. Could I, so fresh from the Academy, bear the weight of responsibility theRead more…
Memories of Laura
| by Tim Lieder |
Would you like to be Laura’s mother? You walk into your house with groceries and yell at the German Shepherd because everything stinks. You think the dog had an accident. You even scold Laura for not taking Max out. You carry on until the silence spooks you. You walk through the living room, and youRead more…