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SUNSHINE
by Holly Day She puts the pillow over his face and prays it'll be as easy as the shows she's seen on TV. He pulls it away, laughs and tells her he still has to go she is no match for him tonight. The moon lights up the fields outside, all around the house, and she and this house are a plague ship on a dead sea there is no reason for anyone to stay here, even if only to ride it out until the next town. Alone, she imagines he's kissed her goodbye, on the cheek soft as a little girl's whisper, an echo of sunset. When she brings him the baby, he won't ask about the random things he's left behind at her house the other men's shoes in her closet. When she comes to his house swollen with starlight, he won't be able to slip out the door as if she is nothing but air. |
PALÇIQ VULKANLARI BAKU, AZERBAIJAN by Baxter Jackson |
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GLASS IN A HAND DESCENDING TOWARD A COFFEE TABLE by Sharon E. Svendsen The argument it lost, but still the glass— its contents leaping up and out—descends in hand—a man's hand—drives glass, ice, whiskey and water into the wooden table. Fluid spatters, jagged fragments fly— Blood drools from the crashing hand— now trembling in its pool of chaos. I stall inside, caught in a crosswind, spin toward the self now shattered in the shards but I brace back, pull up my nose, restart my engine. There must be 700 different ways to fly out of a storm. |
UP by Ruben Briseno Reveles |
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WIND BULGES
by Diane Webster Wind bulges into the shirt hanging on the clothesline and barges out the collar like a superhero escaping cape's choke hold to fly incognito through tree limbs quaking violently in the wake, and fallen leaves swirl in tornado stirrings like hands of the crowd waving for favors when hair gusts over eyes that no longer see and wonder if they saw at all that flight of superhero micro-bursting like newspapers plastered around a stop sign. |
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