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

What Will You Say? – by Andrew Shaughnessy

Should warmth be a word reserved to the world of touch? Laughter

and joy, reserved to the world of emotion?

Thoughts and Prayers – by Renee Cronley

The pungent scent of sulfur

fires out from the gangrenous fumes

of societal decay we don’t smell anymore

I Sensed It Was Beginning – I Sensed It Was Ending – by Lindsey Harrington

The burnt roast from yesterday hanging in the air,
another, in a long list of disappointments.

“So, what does teen spirit smell like, anyways?” – by Katharine Weinmann

In my day, pot and patchouli perfumed bedrooms and back seats.
Sandalwood incense bought by donation from dubious Hare Krishna monks
chanting on the corner.

I Should Have Asked Sooner – by Gabby Gilliam

She 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.

Nobody to Hold Her Back – by Atma Frans

Mama pulls down the attic ladder.Smell of dust and moth balls.I tug on her apron strings. I want to play.Clothespins click and clack.Papa’s shirts float down—flat gullsthat crumple in her basket.Alone on a shelf, a vase,sea snakes frozen in its porcelain.Their skins gleam wet.Don’t touch that!It’s a wedding present from Yvonne.Mama tells me how they […]

Poppy’s Handshake – by Lawrence Maxwell

He’d shake your hand as though he were pulling a weed.
And when I turned twelve he taught me how to
see through the soiled promises of earthly negotiations.

Stone Ground – by Jennifer Mariani

All the ways to drink tea were steeped in you: warming the pot as if it were a heart in need of devout attention. The fullness of time required to brew was the patience of good things you taught me to wait for. The tea cozy a relic of the women who raised us; purposeful, […]

Boxcar Betty Catches The Westbound – by Leslie Casey

There wasn’t a place could lure you to stay, you said, feet planted,/that big bosom swagger every tramp’s dream. You swore an afterlife/on trains…