Rainbow Room and the Red Chair
by Lauren Camp I am granted every fork, every chair, every blossom, the lantern and saffron, escape or alliance. It’s an agreement I made: to
Folding Chair
by Wren Tuatha I told you then I would take it out back and kill it with a knife. But I couldn’t do it. You stumbled upon my love today as then.
Cornbread
by Wren Tuatha Cotton takes care of me. I mend and wonder where a word went as Cotton hops out of bed, feeds the herd, showers. I’m late with his
10am. Every Day, Even When It Rains
by Michael Mark We’re all widowers here, all old guys, just happened that way. Our dates are dogs. Terriers, labs, mutts. They rush to each
Turning East
by Margaret Randall Earth, that solid ball beneath our feet spins in the vastness of space where neither up nor down exists, while on the orbital
Great Aunt June Saves the World
by Michael Bove On the banks of the Susquehanna they lived in a shack. Frost between wood slats, a paltry wall between winter and themselves: