Fiction
Girls
You tell her you love her the day she graduates. It’s a carefree spring morning, the perfect kind for the endurance training you sometimes did—
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
What I Can No Longer See
“I’m thankful I’m not a horse,” Marla says, as she reaches for the saltine sleeve inside her tote bag.
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
Paper Boat
Three walls of the room are made of tin, but on the fourth side a polished floor opens, running like fabric into curtains of lace,
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,