Me and my friends, we get it. We get it all and we hate it. We’re not dumb and we’re not naïve. We’re the neo avant garde of fed-up punching bags in Small Town, Nowhere…
Browsing Category Prose, Poetry, and Art
Festival of Lights by Glenn Shaheen
A house on Oak Street burned down. We took many photos of it going up in flames at lunchtime, and it was only later, after posting the photos online for comments from friends and strangers that we found out it was a murder-suicide…
The Children Can Live Here by Ian Carr
I could live in the descending chords of a seventies serenade, / the spacious tawny bars breaking the light into golden bricks. / I would have been at the guitar all day while / you went to your class and gathered flowers in a / clutch of muslin on your way home…
Haibun: Bashō’s Last Journey by Stephen Cloud
Late autumn, a day of mist and rain keeping me indoors. I think of Bashō at the outset of his final journey: taking up the walking stick, crossing the threshold. All day long I have sat by the window watching rain, reading The Narrow Road, strumming the guitar. Outside, dead leaves have piled up, vines have lost their bloom. In a nearby field, cranes pick through harvest remains without concern for the downpour…
Life Science by Rage Hezekiah
I plucked an owl pellet from the ground / cradling it, delicate, as if a palm-sized bird / and not the mass of bones and fur purged / from a second stomach. In science class / as a girl, I learned these dark forms teemed / with the remnants of undigested pieces…