the water’s edge
where we once ran laughing
at the shallow fish,
now mesmerized by tattered skeletons
of crayfish armor,
floating like a funeral.
D.A. Donaldson maintains a flash-fiction blog whilst laboring as a clerk in a public library.
That night, time and I sat on the couch,
barely talking, the ginger tea growing
cold in ochre mugs,
ignoring the moon
that walked in through the window,
its dark half draped over its arm,
shaking its head at the improbability
of a moment that wasn’t.
Rajani Radhakrishnan is from Bangalore, India and blogs at thotpurge.wordpress.com
An American skate punk—
who earns his living
as a lens grinder—used
equivocal language &
refreshing scented candles
to harness the sensual
tweets from his CEO
& turn them into a
sordid tale of treachery.
Mark Young’s most recent book is random salamanders, a Wanton Text Production.
I am not quite ready to leave
because leaving would mean losing time spent watching The Great British Baking Show and would mean I would miss watching someone bake and construct a 3-tier meringue or a gingerbread pub with stained glass windows and a sticky sweet floor or watching someone leave their bread dough
to prove, knowing that proving is everything, such as the difference between having or not having enough air, between rising or not rising enough
for it to become the bread it needs to be, the bread which can be pulled apart without much force and shared with little fanfare or the need for anything
to drink, but most of all, I would miss the failures: the dough that didn’t rise, the jam that wouldn’t quite set, the walls of all of the gingerbread houses that refused to stand no matter how much icing glue held them together, and the accidental use of salt when sugar was clearly called for.
Anne Graue lives in New York and is the author of Fig Tree in Winter (Dancing Girl Press, 2017), and has published poems in literary journals and anthologies, including The Book of Donuts (Terrapin Books), the Plath Poetry Project, Random Sample Review, and Rivet Journal.
Save some of your bad
for something really good.
Laura Tarasoff loves a great burger, a rolling laugh and talking to everyone.
Twice in a day and a half
he’s almost certain he hears it:
the voice of an angel speaking
from just around the corner
as if from some great distance
seeming almost lost in recitation
telling some cosmic joke or
posing a celestial riddle,
repeating the words
Ron. Lavalette collects his many published works at EGGS OVER TOKYO.
Cindy Bousquet Harris
I’ve become a yellowjacket
layering its paper nest,
an avalanche of fishhooks,
punching the mat,
the comet’s frigid tail of debris.
Cindy Bousquet Harris loves to watch the sky and listen to the trees.