One of my geraniums tried to commit suicide today. It jumped off the windowsill to the street below. I found it lying there, gasping for life. Who knows how long? Hours? How many people walked on by and stared? The dirt was dry and one of it’s branches snapped. I thought about leaving it there. […]
The cukes are in collusion with the zucchinis: We’ll grow when your back is turned And crowd out the basil and carrots, Leaving you with green torpedoes To aim at your neighbors. *** Stephanie Djock is a writer based in St. Paul, Minnesota, where she lives with her husband and an ever-expanding orchid collection and garden.
You simmer In my synapses, You boil In my blood– If I had to Pick a word for it, I might just call it “Love.” *** Magnolia Cook is a writer from the Colorado Springs area.
Smoke billows Ice clinks The clickity-clack of the Remington Like a train on the tracks Speeding into the next The ding signals the end Heels slip on And she is gone *** Amy Harrison is an artist who loves all things vintage and coffee. She currently resides in Colorado Springs with her husband, hound dog,
When rats drop off a sinking ship They don’t think, “This ship is sinking!” That thought would require an Einstein Of what passes for rat thinking. By then, they’re all around the bend, Dumbstruck or homicidal; They’d follow each other over a cliff, Like those Gadarene swine in the Bible. When the flood first showed
She calls to me from the balcony – using the wrong vowel – during her four o’clock cigarette break. I tell her I can’t stay long, immediately wishing I hadn’t, but she understands. Her yellowed fingers pet my dog as she hunchback mumbles I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been? After her partial