Fiction
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
Dr. Ernest Williamson III
Poetry
Lascaux is Burning
The first art Was not art, Rather, a color line shot through the dark, No more expression Than a plea for explanation. The grandest monuments
Lucy Holden
Fiction
The Decision
Maya puts away our coffee-cups – I’ll rinse them after our walk, along with the produce for lunch – and stands behind me, massaging my neck at the right spot.
Amita Basu
Short Story
Ride the Peter Pan
There were times when it seemed like all the beauty was sucked out of my life. This was one of them. It was cold and
Allison Whittenberg
Fiction
Dreamless Nightmare
I have not always had my medication to protect me from epilepsy, to keep my hand steady while I handled boiling grease and kitchen
James A. Corvo