The online literary journal of Greenfield Community College

Baltra

Baltra

I am perhaps the only professional artist to ever be hired for a job at a scientific research firm. The offer came in the form of an email from my high school friend Damaris. “I need my right brain,” she’d written as the subject line. That was our high school...
The Salt of the Earth

The Salt of the Earth

The boy is burning in the front seat of the pickup. The sun feels too close to the earth, and the heat rises like gasoline fumes from the rust-colored hood—the kind of heat that keeps the birds from singing and makes the gun dogs dig ditches in the yard and...
Snow Angels

Snow Angels

Where fly the angels, the angels carried here by the lightness of snow, where fly their feathery wings their soft knowing hearts their prayers they say for us and the ones they answer. Where fly the angels that dance in the flurries sideways, upside down, right side up and crossways;...
The Field

The Field

  I love this green field! It’s forest green.               Never before have I seen such greenery. I love this green field! The deer feed heavily in this field. Turkeys are chasing each other around. I love this green field! The coyote watches the...
Burn

Burn

Mere feet from fire station, the Big Y thief burns an old couple in their bed. Cut throats, empty wallets, then burn. Mami shoves some chicken into microwave. Twenty minutes on high. Papi’s pollo scorches,her fingertips burn. Jahn Foundry explosion. No more skin on Pablo’s fingers to touch his melting...
Soldier-You, Exile-You

Soldier-You, Exile-You

The more you shared memories that broke off inside you, the longer I stayed every time you hit me. At nineteen, I thought that was love. Soldier-you smoked opium to forget boys, whose high-pitched voices chimed about promises of bikes, rice above rations, even a lamb. Khomeini, short on tanks...
Latest submissions
How to Fall: An Interview with Susan Stinson

How to Fall: An Interview with Susan Stinson

Susan Stinson is the Writer in Residence at Forbes Library in Northampton, Massachusetts, and the author of Belly Songs, Fat Girl Dances with Rocks, Venus of Chalk, and Martha Moody. Her upcoming book, Spider in a Tree (Small Beer Press, Oct 2013), is historical fiction chronicling the life of Jonathan Edwards, one of the great...
The World's Greatest Salesman

The World’s Greatest Salesman

Dad was dying. I was the only one of the children without a steady job and so the obvious choice to fly down to Florida and navigate him through to the end. The morning after I arrived at his condo, he entered the hospital for the last time. There were going to be more X-rays...
Apologies

Apologies

  “Apologies” was a collaborative project that invited people to send us poems, stories, paragraphs or whatever that told the story of a wrong-doing of which the author was not really sorry for.  Below are the five pieces we received. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I lied on this invitation. And I’m glad I did it. I’d do it...
The Small House on the Street

The Small House on the Street

There was a time in Greenwich when people kept a car for more than a year and could look at their house and say, “Maybe this is enough.” When my grandparents, Jean and Dean Barker, moved to Greenwich in 1968, it was actually a pretty ordinary town. They bought a house with half an acre...
Always, The Old House

Always, The Old House

  My grandmother shows me my first yellow rose, pale – called Moonlight Glow – which she tends by the stone wall beyond the old, old house. I shut tight my eyes to see us both in the afternoon light. There’s a tale of Bereft in that house which doesn’t yet speak of Grandpa naked...
Swans' The Seer

Swans’ The Seer

Recently, while browsing through new albums on a website of music reviews, I came across a void of black from which some sort of Wookie/bobcat crossbreed was grinning at me. It had dirty, human teeth and was missing its eyeballs. Creepy, I thought. The album cover had no text, but below the painting was some...
The Cold Miles

The Cold Miles

  He is reaching around her – claw foot tub, oceanography. I could say islands, but instead – weigh stations, always this or that, always weather. She is wondering what it might be like to take a class at the University, what might have been the ending to the movie she fell asleep to the...
Short Stacks

Short Stacks

  [OLD MAN, SON I and SON II are gathered in a kitchen, which is sparsely decorated and drab. In the middle of the room is a small kitchen table with three chairs, and in the corner, a grey refrigerator and a white stove. There is one window over the sink with a drab curtain...
Geographical Tongue

Geographical Tongue

  When I was young, my friend said, I have a geographical tongue – and opened wide to let me examine a map cracked deep into pink sponge, roads laid out in the whale-belly of her mouth. At the same time, my fingers would go numb, turn white. I rubbed them like I was referring...
They Are Breaking the House

They Are Breaking the House

shredding the barn, lining up tiny red blue green toy soldiers for sale. The grasses have dried to flame , the stairs are dust and customers roam all the rooms picking up, putting down books and cups, silks and soft eider pillows. Even the mountain beyond the wide back porch is up for sale next...
Suspension

Suspension

    Stormy night: a pallid ant clings to slick fibers of a wind-flayed string. Too dumb to hope, too keen to despair, it pauses mid-string to interrogate the air with antennae restless with autonomy that try to amplify the ant’s economy of movement with electric filigree of panic, rage, anything to shear the monotony...
Bound in Entrapment, A Look At "True Love" by Sharon Olds

Bound in Entrapment, A Look At “True Love” by Sharon Olds

For a full understanding of the following review, read the poem “True Love” by Sharon Olds In the poem “True Love” by Sharon Olds, two lovers are repeatedly shown as being tied to one another. The poem takes place in the moments after the couple finished making love, and at first glance the poem seems...