Issue: 2025

I always suspected Maggie was a witch. Even when she said she’d been in the novitiate – Franciscans, perhaps? – my belief persisted. There was awareness in her touch. The objects of daily life seemed more significant: a ceramic bowl revealed its earthe … Continue Reading

The freedom an oak tree knows                            That is built at night by stars—Linda Gregg what           human mind                 can             fathom          the slow           deliberate           tethered           freedom enjoyed    … Continue Reading

At night when she can’t fall asleep, she plays a word game she learned from an anxious insomniac friend. Think of a theme. Think of words linked to that theme. Say them to yourself, in alphabetical order. Fruits and vegetables are effective. A, apple. … Continue Reading

fields of December grass shift eloquently in deep winds do you sense the down of my back? the smallness of feathers in slate grey looking out amongst the birch branches sprouting white fingers to sift golden rays and melancholy piano notes a melody to … Continue Reading