sprovence
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M. Duncan, Pinecone Dolls
Margie Duncan Pinecone Dolls Dried leaf mosaic a faded quilt – olive, amber, flax – covers sleeping pineconeslined up in the battered box. Dressed long agoin petals and ferns, we buried them under sky and swings. Dig them up, release their seeds, feathery as child-whispers, as wings. Margie Duncan lives and hikes in NJ with…
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K. Lawson, Sauna Secret
Kirk Lawson sauna secret nestled in your dreams a tiny cedar havenand three granite boulders naked insideour steamy spirited sweatthe red-hot stonesrocky ledges wet pine needlesand chilling fallsthe waterwhisperswake up Kirk Lawson lives in Ulster County, New York, and the Shawangunk Mountains. He enjoys poetry as a creative outlet to explore and enhance meaning in…
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J. Bellanca, The Prescription
Jim Bellanca The Prescription Myleft hipcreaked, shrieked,moaned “I hurt.”Doc says,”Pay first.” Jim Bellanca began authoring poems 66 years after his careers as an English teacher and publisher. He favors celebrating the green world and the travails of old age. The Ethereal Haunted Journal, Down in the Dirt, The Aerial Journal, and Witcraft have accepted Jim’s…
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S. Mockler, It’s Only Tea
Susan Mockler It’s Only Tea Gathered in a circle in her living room—some of us meeting for the first time, cups of herbal tea and chocolate chip cookies that looked like they came from the grocery store balanced on our knees, she asked us to introduce ourselves by name only to the people on either…
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B. McAfee, Groundhog
Bob McAfee Groundhog sitting on the old swale walllooks at his watch,tucks in his shirttail,whistles a few bars of “How Much Wood Would a Woodchuck Chuck?”to the tune of “Who’s Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?”,nods to the members of the peanut gallery,reaches back in his memory,hems and haws,casts his eyes to the heavens,looks down…
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R. D. Martin, Little Red Riding Hood Is Done with Gaslighting
Rebecca D. Martin Little Red Riding Hood Is Done with Gaslighting Your rumination pathway, which is really a fear pathway, runs like a Slip ’n Slide through time: one minute, you’re at the top of the yard; next, crashing into a tree. You think you know whose woods these are, but at the bottom, the…
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rm mist, A Work in Process
rm mist A Work in Process Wasteland as cradle, as briar patch, as tomb.Let’s decide where we are in the story.It’s begun with wasteland yearning to be wellspring or promise.Then enters an old woman; she moans and conjures.Patience is not her virtue.We might wonder about her mood upon waking, her phantasmagoric visions,the phase of the…
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T. Haefner, A Reminder
Tresha Faye Haefner A Reminder As you approach the road through the desert,the coyotes howl, their high, silver cries.Proof that something lives in these hills.Moon-quiet. Valley purpled with thought.Boulders gather like lost godsbroken by the angels.Raven’s large wings swoop so noisyshe reminds me what it is to be human. In the sage,the invisible owls barktheir…
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K. DeGroot Carter, haiku
Karen DeGroot Carter Haiku Winter longing slopesfrom drifts of weighted worry.Burial defied. A native of Syracuse, New York, and a graduate of Syracuse University, Karen DeGroot Carter (she/her) (@kdegrootcarter) lives in Denver. Her first novel, One Sister’s Song, is in print with Pearl Street Publishing of Denver, and her fiction, poetry, and nonfiction have appeared…
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J. Howard, Winter Cleaning
Jay Howard Winter Cleaning Dad’s old garage is full of gadgets, some with small engines.The instruction manuals always contain many languages,but there is never any diagram or mention of theessential thing. The wall is cubbies of gently shifting objects that take definite form when touched. I carry them with me.I empty the garage. They appear…