Fiction

Fiction

Falling Short

I saw everyone, having fallen short, on the ground

Poetry

Pins

Crying, I recall my father shudders, remembering tall thin men at the foot of the bed apparitions at night, faceless heads like pins, mostly arms,

Poetry

Ghost Hunting

I’m hunting for ghosts,In alleys lit by memories,Phantoms of yesterday,Carved out of my mind.What I once held,You me and our dreams,Scraped knees and screeching swings,Pokémon

Poetry

When You Grow Up

I’d rather be a collapsed flower drenched in rainwater; succumbed to the well where wishes weld winning whims. though not alone as the barren heart

Fiction

Dear Spec

___The featured image accompanying this piece, entitled ‘Spectrum’, has been used with the permission of artist, Robert Alan, a mixed media artist from New York

Fiction

Marketplace

The listing requires dimensions, and so there is the inevitable internal struggle. Laziness. Disorganization… Cannot find the measuring tape. Can she guess its proper size?