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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    It hurts to hinder, but I still don’t know any other option. I see love, a colorful, intrinsic flower stare and roll the dewy drops with your thumb and pointer- I will touch it, oh yes but am I too shy, too awful, to stick my small nose into the folds of its delicate neck? I see the happi...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    He crawls through the mud. He is sweet and black earth, he touches the gentle body of dirt squeaks noises through the crocodile grass with nails like a creek. Do not crawl! I’d scream. You do not even have boots on, and your socks are fine white cotton with a hole in the heel- but still gr...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Mabel May “You know, this Tuesday feels right. Mark my words, Mr. Carter will be coming.” Mom says this nearly under her breath, as one would speak of nonsense chores that need to be done. “I’ve sent him a letter, a good one yes, with the fine parchment, the off white one you know.”...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    They trade and bicker over time, over lives. They fight over who will get to keep the memory of the real Christmas this year. Time with their children is like a tangible object; whoever possesses the Time this year will undoubtedly feel that their family is one step closer to whole. But it makes ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    He is there every day, rattling a hollow sounding cup of coins. There may be two or three in there. He does not have a talent, or a nice face. Not many people want to give him their money, because he has three teeth and mumbles things in Spanglish. He was the man who was kicked away from the white...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    In the summertime, my mom used to pull my older sisters aside- “You girls should be models!”- and leave me sitting alone by the pool, staring at how my hands looked pale and swollen underwater. I didn’t know why it bothered me when this happened, but she did this at least five times that year....
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Saunter away, she always will swinging her hips, red heels away from you, and the sweet whiskey and the bruises. Though, she can’t even though she stopped being in love the instant your eyes shone drunk but could not leave. No, no, she will not go as long as the wooden door stays splinte...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Birdsong, birdsong a ghost soothing outside the door who’s face I cannot know lest I will spoil the melody. Birdsong, birdsong I am falling in love a drop in this mellow pond I wake up, nothing is clear, am crooned back to sleep, by birdsong, birdsong. Don’t let me go I will not wake ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    He reminds me of May with a laugh that chirps and breathes with new life. I look into his eyes, glowing azaleas, as he talks and try not to think about how his bare head, a lone, soft bulb that belongs in black soil, sweet and alive will return there before May even begins. He tells m...
  • Poetry > Haiku
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    Hush, here comes the rain On tin rooftops, it comforts; It speaks without words....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Golden skin and callused palms brush hollow cheeks and blaze trails of snowy feathers where, three years ago now empty shadows replaced rosy light. Do you remember? how I followed you bare feet crunched dead leaves curve around tree bark and stones and the soft beige of mushrooms, and bon...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Crisp like: A stark black collar steaming fresh from a hot iron. In the day to come the rushed clicking of a calculator doing Old Man Johnson's taxes toasty coffee and instant ramen but for now it is proud and austere. Crisp like: October, the churning earth stings your ­nostrils and...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I am from silver knot earrings From hand-me-downs and the inflatable swimming pool Running around in a circle Floaties blue and making my arms sweat Creating a current to float away on. I am from braids pulled slightly too tight But not minding Because mom’s hands smell like fresh tea And ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    My head rested, ear pressed To cream-colored couch. It was warm From a fever-wrought forehead, and the air tasted damp and stale Like buttered toast left on the counter all day. A mound of matted gray, hamster nose, and rusty purr Breathed against my stomach. He is a guardian with crooked t...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Sun slices through silver snow Gives way to a breathing green A sigh Of rose-petal relief; Poor Jack Frost Falls to his knees With grief. Frost screams Claws clutching Sun beams Barely touching Yet strong enough And buttery so Reveals bark Rough Slicing through Silver snow. ...

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