by Andrea Mazzariello Twenty years ago I found a recording of my father playing the piano. I burned it onto a blank CD, sketched my father’s silhouette across the reflective acrylic in permanent marker, and gave it to him as a retirement gift, the music he once played lasered under a drawing of his […]
by Amy Soricelli Darling, How I Love You Twice The country singer says he has two eyes,and one watches you walk away.The other just loves you, and sees you,and there is nothing in the blue but the blue. I wonder if the country song is about you,and how you have two hearts.One you gave
Darling, How I Love You Twice // Let’s Raise Our Glass Read More »
by Valentine Mizrahi My stupid phone, it rings and rings. I can see it’s Asher, my younger son, an urgent ring, pressing, distracting me while I drive. My phone is perched on the console between the front seats. I don’t answer. It is raining, hard. The phone rings again and again. Then the alarming pings
by Deborah Blenkhorn ” Should old acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind?” – Robert Burns, 1788 When he was born, the youngest of seven, they had to change all his blood—right through the top of his head. “I was Rh-negative,” his mother, my godmother, explains to those who hear the story. Now, I think, he
by John RC Potter Growing up in a small southwestern Ontario town, I was always aware that Toronto’s cultural and nightlife metropolis was a few hours’ drive to the east. It was a mecca that beckoned to me from an early age. It was physically not far away; however, metaphysically it seemed as distant from
Destination: Toronto @ Midnight Read More »
by Ashley W. Cundiff At four, my twin boys discovered the solar system and were quickly obsessed with planets. One claimed Jupiter as his own personal favorite (because of its size) the other, Saturn (because of its good looks). They drew planets constantly, checked all the planet books out from the library, watched planet videos,
Anything Can Happen Read More »
by Sam Hendrian I’ve already told this story through many poems. But sometimes poetry is a form of cowardice, a means of avoiding the vulnerability of the unembellished truth. And so it’s about time I summoned the courage to tell this bittersweet tale in raw prose, even if my omnipresent insecurities and projections are painted
by Taylor Scott I think constantly, agonize over my morals, debate if they’re moral enough, and if I’m smart enough to be great. I am most myself when my skin buzzes with anxious thoughtfulness, in both meanings of the word. I probably spent an entire year, in the grand scheme of my limited lifetime, analyzing
Generational Reflections Read More »
by Elizabeth Hallenberg Bea reminded herself that the pact was binding. Granny couldn’t say no. They signed their names at the bottom of a contract handwritten on parchment paper. Sixteen-year-old Bea insisted on burning the edges for authenticity. Sixty-three-year-old Granny indulged her, happy she wasn’t growing up too fast.They chose poetic words, but they did
by Travis Lee You attend the funeral in civilian clothes and sit in the back. The chaplain’s up front with the family in his dress blues and no one told you to come, you just decided to do it. You think showing up will absolve you of what happened, your responsibility which tickles your