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
The Seam

The Seam

  Wind, a branch broken glass, but still cloud on the horizon where a line of people walk bent thick & thin, walk from what they left, but there is no where- they-are-going-to. One foot presses down, hurts or slips, weighs more than can be lifted. Their feet! Cloaks damp, gloves torn. Their feet! Slowly,...
Hunter's Round

Hunter’s Round

  No more than the bird with piercing voice do you stake my heart, the dumb drum that feels its own concentric pain, no more Then the bird with piercing voice stakes a wider, colder claim than yours, to which I’m bound but no more than the bird With piercing voice I stake your name...
Apologie

Apologie

  I am sorry, mi amore Platanus; all the trees hanging over the river on the corner, sweet locust and sycamore marching up the steep stream bed to escape the rising tide. I didn’t save you when propane tanks, popping up like otters, played in the river’s current. I didn’t rescue your cousin, Acer, either...
Magnetic Poetry

Magnetic Poetry

O'Pear

O’Pear

The children ignore you submissively waiting in place in the sunny kitchen. They skip past you, an ornament in a bowl. The father, on the other hand, from the instant he lays eyes on you, leers hungrily at your buxom figure and blushing skin. He would like to unpeel you with his mouth beginning at...