by Hollie Anderson
Read More »Atlas is a woman, and she is my mother, and her mother before her.
Home Made
by Brian Christopher Giddens
When I was a kid, I dreamed of being adopted. By the Happy Hollisters. Mr. and Mrs. Hollister already had five kids; what’s one more? My dad ran off before my legs grew long enough to follow. Mom loved him, which made her hate him for leaving her behind. She soothed her rage with whiskey, directing daily dramas from the kitchen of our split-level house, at war with a new man. I’d lie low in my bedroom, sprawled on my twin bed with its JCPenney sky blue polyester bedspread, devouring all the Happy Hollister books in the series. And when I finished, I’d read them again.
Schadenfreude
by John RC Potter
Definition: “Finding joy in someone’s misfortune”
This is a German word,
it holds a rhythmic resonance.
It has a pleasing sound,
yet points to a type of penance.
Legacy
by Huina Zheng
During the turbulent years of the Cultural Revolution, Grandma would close the worn wooden door when night fell.
Lying in bed, Grandma and Mom were gently wrapped in darkness. In a soft voice, Grandma told my young mother ancient folktales and historical stories, all of which her own mother had told her: the story of Nuwa, who made humans out of yellow earth and water; the tale of Meng Jiangnu, who wept for her husband, who had died while building the Great Wall. Her tears moved Heaven and Earth, causing a section of the Wall to collapse, revealing her husband’s remains; and the story of Jingwei, who drowned in the Eastern Sea and transformed into a bird, tirelessly bringing stones and twigs to fill the sea, vowing to avenge her drowning.
Read More »The Light
by Laura Catanzano
Isn’t it all worth it ifRead More »
for only one deep inhale
one fleeting moment
one peaceful sigh …
2 art pieces
Twelve Happy Months
Damaged but Beautiful
by Stylianos Splinis
Still so much is held deep within me,
My wings, my story, I cannot escape how it chains me.
Read More »A New Fan
by Duane Anderson
I was the robin’s biggest fan today
as I watered the grass in our yard,
its reward, a big fat worm in its beak.
Drummer
by Dane Erbach
“Harder!” Joe shouts from his podium, yells over violin bows stuck in the air like an unruly haircut. “Hit that bass drum as hard as you can!”
The orchestra spins toward me—rows of smarmy teenage smiles, annoyed; of middle schoolers wild with amusement, squirming their chairs.
“Have you ever heard Jurassic Park’s soundtrack?” Joe asks, his bald head shining in the fluorescent light. “The big BOOM at the beginning?”
Read More »
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