The grandmother ever at my shoulder What harm another little nub of butter? A pinch of sage would lift the whole thing Navigating the gaps as nimbly now as she did In her dimly-lit kitchen with its three trip-up steps to sprinkle and stir Her jealous Jack Russell and me always lapping at…
Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 16
“And who are you?” Johnny Bowers asked with a smile. “You know who I am.” Brady’s smile faltered. “Don’t you?” Johnny’s smile broadened as he tilted his head to the side, “Sure I do.” “Dad?” Brady felt panic rise in his throat. “Do you know who I am?” “You’re Brady,” Johnny said with a hint…
Microwork – Draw Me a Vision of Tomorrow
Draw me a vision of tomorrow Where the paper is still clear, so No painted tears blotch memories. Draw it today. Ann Rosenthal lives in New Zealand. Her poetry is featured in NZ Poetry 2018 and multiple US journals, as well as in an upcoming national exhibition of women artists. She is currently homeless.
Issue 15.3 – Nonfiction
I volunteered at the Jewish Family Service for many years visiting lonely elderly people who could no longer get out. When they called me for Marge they were looking for someone who liked to play Scrabble because Marge needed a partner. I was an English teacher, so it looked like a good fit. I could…
Issue 15.3 – Fiction
The journey from one near-bankrupt department store to the other takes eighteen minutes, at least while pushing a stroller. Under snow-fogged skylights, I trudge past a succession of dark storefronts, still locked behind their chain-mail fences, as my boots leave gray puddles on the just-buffed terrazzo. Tags dangle from rows of stacked merchandise, fluttering in…
Issue 15.3 – Poetry
Hardwood floor, stained, edges charred black years of praying, of playing, of crying Cobwebs in the windows, roaches on the walls, mice commuting between rooms, remnants of their travels cover our feet Wild cats commune in the backyard, meowing at the moon, stray dogs lurk nearby, growling, hungry for dinner The…
Issue 15.2 – Fiction
You know everything now: names of animals, flowers, trees; how to do chores. You can reach the clothesline and run errands and learn anything you copy down in your theme book. You’re twelve, but you haven’t got a mother to explain what’s coming. When you first started to swell up top, you thought you had…
Issue 15.2 – Poetry
Dear Mom: Remember when you used to tuck me in? White and pink crocheted blanket Nestled in next to the soft black cat Bedtime stories, wait! One more, please. Please? Remember those fights we used to have? We screamed at each other Doors were slammed, shattered You didn’t understand my hormones And I didn’t…
Serial – Little River: Vol 2 – Ch 15
The knock on the door made Lexi feel like being sick. She left her lesson plan on the kitchen table, and started to answer the door. Before she made it out of the kitchen, Sidney flew past her and threw the door open. Lexi leaned against the doorway into the hall and watched her sister…
Issue 15.1 – Fiction
She listened to the rattling of their shackles and the sobbing of Prisoner 940 in front of her. His bawling had started hours ago when the guards put them on the bus: three men and her, with twice as many guards. They had been instructed not to make noise. She supposed crying didn’t count. She…
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