by Kathleen O’Neil That strip of cloth is mordant red. I’d wrestle it, but who wants to be alone? Such a deceptive slip of cloth laid out over velvet cream skin. My little amoret. Touches […]
The Burial by Ally Schwam
While I eat breakfast, a mourning dove
slams into my window,
trades her life for a crack in the glass.
by Stacey Z Lawrence He is eleven, almost a man when the belt’s buckle catches under his skin. As usual he grips the kitchen sink stares at the faucet drip as she whips. He never […]