Fiction

Short Story

No Man’s Land

Bloated clouds float above the prison, obscuring the sun. I linger outside the narrow cell window, which is no more than a barred gap in

Short Story

In the Round Pen

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on this moment. How do I feel? What am I seeing? What am I hearing? Him.

Poetry

50s Dresses

Floral straight jackets hiding women
It’s too pretty to get dirty.

Fiction

This Place, it Echoes

  My first real breath of air smells of pine and woodsmoke. It comes to me on a cool breeze, mid-afternoon, a sunny day that

Poetry

A Photo Found in Black and White

Coincidence did not cause the young man’s cheek to share the curve of mine in his gray, buttered face. His finger-combed hair wet with grease,