From the bed, my head heavy as hibiscus, I watch her zip into a strapless gown, then sit at her dressing table. (more…)
Anne pauses outside her mother’s bedroom door. The darkness ripples with the sheriff’s beefy moans and the box spring’s twang. Anne tiptoes downstairs and steps onto the porch. The alfalfa-scented breeze strikes her face. Above, a smothering of clouds, a vista of blue and black. Lightning in the distance, a crooked vein of white, then thunder. Anne walks beneath a maple’s bobbing limbs. Before his wasting, her father had strung his gutted deer from the maple. Later, beneath the tree’s October-red leaves, her mother married the sheriff, a man everything her father was not. The lane’s gravel brushes Anne’s bare feet. Raindrops strike cool upon her neck. (more…)
1. Farm Boys
The mother makes biscuits in a morning, sprinkles flour to the soft dough. The barefoot little girl tugs the hem of her apron, sucking her thumb, clutching Dirty Baby, a corncob wrapped in muslin. From the corner of the room the replacement baby boy is mad and won’t stop that crying. (more…)
More quiet than this, I guess, one needs: (more…)
Poetry, creative nonfiction, and fiction/prose poetry submissions are now open. Check out our new category triptychs! The submission period closes December 15, 2108; submit here.
09/17 • Nance Van Winckel
09/24 • Wendy Barker