• by Kathy Hessmer One hot Saturday morning, in the summer of 1956, the year Patti Page released “Allegheny Moon,” and I turned eight, my father took our preacher fishing, whacked him on the head with an oar, and killed him dead. He did this so fast and smooth, he made killing a preacher look easy.…

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  • by Laura Theis this white four-poster once was her laughter & the darkening night sky once was her tongue the orangery once was a little tear she showed no one isn’t it striking these shooting stars werehow she sneezed when the dust came down the cashmere I’m wearing once was her left foot this Jasmine…

    Read more: All That Is Left Of Liv
  • by Laura Theis my sister dreams she is a garden and running barefoot down her winding paths I know not to step on the sharp stones and where her early snowdrops growmy sister dreams she is a garden and I am a snail out in her dew until the sun burns the moisture awayso I…

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  • by John Grey I awake to a hoot,most likely a mourning dove,but I prefer it be an owl.With just a name,my head can make an owl appear.It’s daylight which is not owl territorybut, when my imagination gets involved,the bird has no say in the matter.The mourning doveis as common as sunshine.But the owl is one…

    Read more: The World of Imagination
  • by Caitlin O’Halloran As class was ending, we heard the sudden wash of rain pelting down on the fields outside. Then came the whispers, a passed message of the time and place. When we gathered at the top of the tallest hill, the rain had been pouring for at least an hour, enough time for…

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  • by Caitlin O’Halloran There is no wishing without sadness,no desire without fear.Such dreams can turn to madnessif you lose what you hold dear.But a coin tossed into a wishing wellis always a fair exchange. A quarter for a bit of hopethat things won’t stay the same. I made such a wish years ago,in a clearing…

    Read more: The Wishing Well