Human Parcels – by Fiona Clark
Hidden in my right shoe’s hollow heel, a gold watch ticks.
Beneath my under-bodice, neatly stitched, my mother’s
turquoise ring. The water in the harbour coils, black ink
Read More Human Parcels – by Fiona ClarkHidden in my right shoe’s hollow heel, a gold watch ticks.
Beneath my under-bodice, neatly stitched, my mother’s
turquoise ring. The water in the harbour coils, black ink
Read More Human Parcels – by Fiona ClarkI’ve hummed every song I can think of, twice, and almost chewed myself a new haircut.
Read More Road(kill) Trip – by Lindsey HarringtonWith her right hand at one o’clock on the steering wheel and left hand deep into a one-pound bag of Mister Bee potato chips, Aunt Mary Jo remarked, “We’ll just keep going until we get there.”
Read More Hiraeth – by Rhonda E CarperIn my day, pot and patchouli perfumed bedrooms and back seats.
Sandalwood incense bought by donation from dubious Hare Krishna monks
chanting on the corner.
“You’ve already searched me and found nothing,” Sam says.
Read More Tiny Smuggler – by N.E. RuleEventually, the trees end abruptly and you are at the lake, an expanse of white, bounded by trees and ice-encrusted granite.
Read More Ice Fishing – by Stephen GarrettShe looks beyond the fire to the flat surface of the lake. There is little in the way of moon and stars tonight, but lights from the lodge on the opposite shore glimmer on the water’s skin. In her eyes, the dancing amber flames ripple.
Read More I Should Have Asked Sooner – by Gabby GilliamShe looks beyond the fire to the flat surface of the lake. There is little in the way of moon and stars tonight, but lights from the lodge on the opposite shore glimmer on the water’s skin. In her eyes, the dancing amber flames ripple.
Read More Split – by Jay McKenzieSo we kept change for lost off-chances,
over-the-counter jinx fixes for the chipped teeth of a heart
That bit more chunk than it could chew.
Read More THE LAST TIME MY HEART BROKE – By Mr Mbonisi Zikhali ZomkhontoWe queue up with all the semis, car carriers full of souped-up SUVs, reefers of Mexican spinach and sweet peas, empty logging trucks, and full livestock trailers. And us, with our secret cargo.
Read More Where We Have to Go – by Lindsey Harrington