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The Confession | by Stephen V. Ramey
I’m sorry I can’t come to the party. Mom found my jar, you know, the one I mentioned, the one with my spit? Once she figured out what it was she kind of schizzed out. She made me go to this therapist...
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Hey Suburbia | by Andrea Janov
Graffiti scars. $100 reward for information August 10, 1998 The photo in the newspaper bright blue and yellow tag spray painted on the side of the concession stand at the Swoyersville Little...
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You Name is Tattooed On My Heart | by Andrea Janov
We sit on my parents faded couch his hand rests on his worn black jeans. I touch his wrist he turns his palm I run my finger over dirt engrained calluses fresh scrapes half healed...
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Walk Away | by Andrea Janov
With the smell of dead leaves and the biting wind hinting at coming snow I knew I was home. Though New York City is only one hundred and fifty miles east, it never has that fragrance of late fall like...
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We Couldn’t Keep Up | by Rudy Melena
When I was ten-years-old, my mama came home from the mental clinic. Standing on tiptoes, I leaned over the sink and drew aside the kitchen window curtain. The ‘53 Ford pulled up in the muddy alley, and...
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The Last Showing Of Po Spooner | by Robert E. Petras
According to his son, Angle, Po Spooner had suffered 151 heart attacks, but it was the sugar that finally got him. Wearing a black T-shirt with bold white letters reading “TNA the true genetic code,”...
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Interview With A Shy Poet In Advance Of His Fame | by Raymond Keen
Can you tell us something about your family? Yes. My mother likes cats and dogs. So, what stands behind the philosopher-poet —- his mother? No, his mother’s philosopher-poet. In your poetry, why don’t...
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The Hit | by Matthew Brennan
From behind the bar, Luisa and I watched the man in the cream suit and sunglasses sitting at a table on the cafe’s streetside patio. Though alone, he had ordered a French press with two mugs. He sipped...
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Bed And Breakfast Morning | by Matthew Brennan
“Good morning folks! We’re Bob and Jo Parsons, and we’re from North Carolina. Where are you all from?” “Hi. Mark; my wife Rachel. From Boston.” “Lovely to meet you both. Our hostess said that both of...
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