The online literary journal of Greenfield Community College

Raymond

Raymond

  No pleasure in meat, dairy, sugar, white flour, nor in novels, military history, science fiction, or organized religion. He’s not without reverence– Cecil Taylor, Allen Ginsberg, glacial erratics. He curses when he loses traction, skins his knee. “Age,” he tells the bathroom mirror, “is a state of mind. That...
70 Soles

70 Soles

   estremezco del brillo de cuerpo en cuerpo del brillo del frío de cuero de ante parezco sencillo soy cuerpo en cuerpo mi tribu me cerca son sobrevivientes y yo sobrevivo con tribu y cuerpo y bajo del combi ya sola de nuevo   Translation: I shiver from the shine...
A Shoe

A Shoe

   ruimc77 via Compfight   A shoe hung from the gutter. Caught by its white laces, the shoe didn’t move. It was like a rabbit held by the ears. The woman didn’t know how it got onto the roof of her house. It hadn’t been there yesterday. She was sure...
Dead Reputations

Dead Reputations

Bryan Brenneman via Compfight   He had been in a hell of a fight like being kicked twenty times in the head. Of course, he would know, like that time coming out of Driscoll’s, fighting those three guys from the flats, the tall one saying, This stupid shit won’t stay...
Will Anyone Harbor a Broken Poetess?

Will Anyone Harbor a Broken Poetess?

    Book-skimming is a bit like brushing fingertips across the face of the ocean. You caress a page and probe no deeper. Turn to the art tomes when words go from chime-clear to brassy. By the window of the bookhaven perches the kind of woman you don’t ask for...
Latest submissions
Auto-suggested Smart Phone Poems

Auto-suggested Smart Phone Poems

Here are some Auto-suggested Smart Phone Poems, which are written using the Notes app available in most smart phones. To create these kinds of poems, open the Notes app and proceed to “add a note.”  The text editor that pops up not only offers a keyboard but also auto-suggests three words.  Choose one of those words and another...
The Lonely Zanate

The Lonely Zanate

  Look at the lonely Zanate, pecking at his own enamored reflection in the dusty window of the room where I slept for seven days in the house of my lover’s wife.   Dear lover of poetry, farmer, family man; what happens when the lonely Zanate pecks too hard at his own corrupted image? When...
What I Have From You

What I Have From You

A jar of pork fat from the small pig your rancheros slaughtered for New Year’s Eve. El aceite del chancho, miraculously slid through Atlanta customs. The same nebulous color of the clouds of Peñas Blancas, suspended somewhere between a solid and a liquid.   A quart of coffee beans (we picked together in Mulukuku). Dark...
Sawmill River

Sawmill River

I can’t forget any part of it water tumbled its gush down the white-lined course trying to stay in boundaries of wood and rock mammoth juts of history teased my eyes along its busy track of black so even birds couldn’t land then a strong curve of power rushed under the bent branch spray played...
Across the Room From Sally Bellerose

Across the Room From Sally Bellerose

    On a warm, slightly overcast Tuesday morning at the end of November, I go to the Haymarket Café in Northampton to meet with local writer Sally Bellerose. She’s the author of the acclaimed 2011 novel The Girl’s Club and numerous short stories, mostly involving themes of gender, class, religion, and illness, among other...
The Crispiest Apple

The Crispiest Apple

  My mother is an escort and an adult-actress, not a prostitute, call girl, hooker, whore, porn star, or streetwalker. Yes, she has a website and no, you can’t have the address. An escort doesn’t trade money for sex. She makes her living exercising the cliché “time is money.” One hour, $500. You’ve got to...
Thanatos on the Rocks

Thanatos on the Rocks

  The refuse of my disease isn’t orange pill bottles or syringes. You won’t find used needles or vials on the floor or in my pockets. You won’t find anything, but if you could, you’d see only fat bottles—emptied. The big bottles wait for me at the store. They hold amber liquid, which sloshes inside...
Aching Sawtooth & Other Haiku

Aching Sawtooth & Other Haiku

  headless nails declawed hammer aching sawtooth * new health card break a leg outbreak of smiles * passionaectomy poisonberry soup gallstone fence * sculpted abs rottenstone belly chiseler’s mark * first gasp last legs back to back * overhead I underfoot * no prayer all morning kneeling bus
Saturday Night Book Club

Saturday Night Book Club

  “I need a good book.” Mary Jane Russell stared at the graying part at the top of her mother’s head, a dull line between the tightly permed blonde curls on the rest of her head. They were in Betty Russell’s dining room having their Friday night tuna, egg noodles, and cheese casserole. Betty used her fork...
Blame It On Bad Luck

Blame It On Bad Luck

  “How long are you back for?” It was a question I would be asked a million and one times. “Are you home for good?” was only asked about half a million. “No,” I would tell them. “I’m only home for about two weeks. I go back at the end of the month.” Their faces...
My Grandmother's Wings

My Grandmother’s Wings

  My grandmother had a Bakelite Philco radio, model 48-250, brown with gold numerals on the dial. Its five tubes received the AM band and operated on 115 volts. I remember little about her, just that she wore black dresses with small white polka dots, pulled her white hair into a bun at the back...
Blade to the Wrist

Blade to the Wrist

He paints a picture with a slow precision Every stroke a product of his weighted thoughts He drags the brush across the canvas with a gasp and his breath rushes out making barely a whisper He is an artist who sits with one fist curled as he captures his pain inflicted by the world From...