# Painted Pebble Lit Mag

> A quarterly literary journal celebrating all short form lit


## Posts

- [A. Tillmans, New Year's Eve](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-tillmans-new-years-eve/): Andrea Tillmanns New Year’s Eve At first, we only saw the exploding lights, as we do every year. But when they were supposed to go out, they refused, seeking a common shape instead.Just as scales enveloped a fish and defined its shape, scaly lights shifted until they enveloped an air-filled body in the air and defined its shape. The fish of light floated on slowly, moving its fins of light and pushing off from the night, moving faster and faster until it disappeared behind the distant houses.We didn’t know where it swam to. But perhaps it would return to the […]
- [T. Haefner, A Reminder](https://paintedpebblelit.com/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 warnings.Ghosts of the Cahuilla watch overthese large spiders crossing a road,birds twisting into sand.When the road dies,the desert finds you. An emptinessso complete you can almost call it home. Tresha Faye Haefner is the founder of the online writing community, The Poetry Salon, and author […]
- [W. Doreski, Flags in the Breeze](https://paintedpebblelit.com/w-doreski-flags-in-the-breeze/): William Doreski Flag in the Breeze Stiff in gray air, a flag accentsa slab of industrial landscape.Dull windowless metal-sidedwarehouse capped with ventilators.Who works in such a bland setting?I lasted two weeks in HallmarkCards’ facility in Enfield,sorting greetings for shipment,unloading boxcars arrivingfrom Kansas, where steam pressesspewed thousands of glitzy cardsfor birthdays, graduations, griefs.I couldn’t take all that sentimentand quit to paint snowplows orangeat the state highway garage.Rushing past this warehouse with flagproud on its stem, I rememberorange paint in my hair, everywhere.Scrubbing myself for date nightsnearly deprived me of my skin.Still, I liked working outdoors.just as I like traveling by trainpast […]
- [M. Dube, Reopen the Broken Glass Cafererias](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-dube-reopen-the-broken-glass-cafererias/): Matt Dube Reopen the Broken Glass Cafeterias Nothing is too off-the-wall for a brand in crisis, so when it came to me, I shouted it out: Reopen the broken glass cafeterias. We’ll have media coverage and all the different flavors: leaded and double pane, auto, and even stained glass, at least for the grand opening. The one thing I still need is someone from the original craze, but so far I haven’t been able to find anyone. Matt Dube teaches creative writing and American lit at a small mid-Missouri university, and he reads queries sent to JackLeg Press. Back to […]
- [S. Laskin, Breakfast with the stars](https://paintedpebblelit.com/s-laskin-breakfast-with-the-stars/): Sarah Laskin Breakfast with the Stars Up walking Rocky in the proto-dawn,turn the corner where the trees openand Orion is exposed to view, alwayssteps behind the seven sisters, his prey.Stand and watch, wait for the signalthat says Orion, time to give your bow back to the prop master, make wayon the stage for the Sun, her chariotarrives soon. Is it a specific toneof cobalt that allows the huntto slow overhead? Or some cosmic horn I can’t hear? At the first bandsof lavender and pink, the chase is over, the hunter and hunted faded out. I wait for Rigel, Betelgeuse, Alnitak, […]
- [M. Diedericks, UFOs and Euphemisms](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-diedericks-ufos-and-euphemisms/): Megan Diedericks UFOs and Euphemisms When the shooting staris just an alien spacecraft,be carefulwhat you wish for. Megan Diedericks writes poetry and fiction; everything from meek to macabre can be found in between the lines. The 2025 Rhysling Award Nominee is the author of the darkest of times, the darkest of thoughts (2022, self-published) and The Coffin Chronicles (2025, Island of Wak-Wak). Learn more: bit.ly/megandiedericks Back to Issue
- [M. Duncan, Until I Met You I Was Merely Human](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-duncan-until-i-met-you-i-was-merely-human/): Margie Duncan Until I Met You I Was Merely Human Turtle loves its shell, that weighty carapacethat makes anywhere on earth a home, and shell loves its turtle, the promenadethrough any thicket toward adventure.You’re my palankeen through brush and storm,and I’m your speckled shelter from the beasts,though there’s an argument to be made for the other way around. Margie Duncan lives and hikes in NJ with her husband, Brian, and the ghosts of two dogs, while their two soon-to-be-elderly tuxedo cats mostly sleep at home. Her poems have appeared in various places online and in print. Back to Issue
- [M. Sterling, Sonnet for the Janus Bird](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-sterling-sonnet-for-the-janus-bird/): Meghan Sterling Sonnet for the Janus Bird In the dream, I was writing a poem for a two-headedbird. I only remember the last line—the self, past and current. Current as in the pull of the sea. Current as in the electric truth of who I have become. How much I have changed, wild bird. Even in dreams, I see pieces of my past drifting away, broken like the hulls of ships dashed on rocks that block the route forward. The only way through is through, they said. You will spend much of your life alone; they didn’t. How much I […]
- [J. Simms, On Becoming an Albatross](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-simms-on-becoming-an-albatross/): Jess Simms On Becoming an Albatross You were not born to be a burden. When you soar the wind is freedom, weightless over endless water. It is only when on land that you are heavy, a vessel filled by others’ guilt, your wings slacked by their violence. They don’t care to hear of the distant places you have seen, or the blissful monotony of a becalmed sea, your long hours circling in solitude. That you knew nothing of regret until they bound you as their metaphor. Jess Simms is a co-founder of Scribble House and the managing editor of After […]
- [J. Simms, On Becoming a Unicorn](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-simms-on-becoming-a-unicorn/): Jess Simms On Becoming a Unicorn You have big hooves to fill. All that talk of magic and beauty, rainbows and purity—it’s a lot to live up to. You’re just a horse with a horn, when it comes down to it, and it’s exhausting to kill the same dream over and over and over. So you make yourself elusive. Retreat to the deep woods, emerge only by moonlight. Fade until you’re vague enough to fit any ideals. Jess Simms is a co-founder of Scribble House and the managing editor of After Happy Hour Review. They are the author of Cryptid […]
- [J. Simms, On Becoming a Great Auk](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-simms-on-becoming-a-great-auk/): Jess Simms On Becoming a Great Auk You were king, once. Before strangers invaded, you ruled benevolent, a giant in small lands, so secure in your belonging, you lost the knowledge of flight. Once upon a time, your bones were seen as holy, your feathers magic. And they were, once. When you needed for nothing. When you were free to swim and nest and thrive in your secluded kingdom. Jess Simms is a co-founder of Scribble House and the managing editor of After Happy Hour Review. They are the author of Cryptid Bits (Last-Picked Books, 2024) and have published stories […]
- [K. DeGroot Carter, haiku](https://paintedpebblelit.com/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 in BigCityLit, Interim, Publishers Weekly, and elsewhere. Back to Issue
- [J. Howard, Winter Cleaning](https://paintedpebblelit.com/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 again, intractably. Somehow, it is the way we want it. In the middle, obscuring the workbench,rests a hill of boxes full of The Collection. A still life. An old metal pitcher. An old can. A milk can. A belt sander.That time we made a wooden […]
- [L. Castle, Dear Kitchen](https://paintedpebblelit.com/l-castle-dear-kitchen/): Luanne Castle Dear Kitchen Stop with your drooping face when I pull a supermarket meal from the fridge or let the bananas go black and--goddess forbid--throw them in the trash instead of making a loaf. I suspect you remember the days of floured counters, the scent of rising dough, and baking bread. Other days, the air redolent with curry or bibimbap or a crispy-skinned Thanksgiving turkey with fixings. The sizzle of pan-fried breaded yellow squash. Our specialty, crispy latkes with dill and chives, sour cream. All those years, I took the lead. I’m worn out. Isn’t it your turn to […]
- [S. Browning, For the Editor Who Called Grandmother Poems Sentimental](https://paintedpebblelit.com/s-browning-for-the-editor-who-called-grandmother-poems-sentimental/): Sarah Browning For the Editor Who Called Grandmother Poems Sentimental I never saw my English grandmother cook a single thing. She was raised by Victorians, vegetarian. Dinner was store-brand canned vegetable soup and cottage cheese. Lunch, canned peaches, and cottage cheese. Breakfast, cold cereal, or maybe cottage cheese.So, a surprise! The Sunset Magazine Vegetarian Cookbook she gave me to begin my adult life was actually good! Not 80s good – tofu stir-fry and lentil soup – but good as in I still make the French white bean salad with mustard,tarragon, and a touch of honey. Nana gave strict orders on […]
- [M. Maddox, Let Them Eat Cake](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-maddox-let-them-eat-cake/): Marjorie Maddox Let Them Eat Cake attributed to Marie AntoinetteWhy not lose yourself in Black Forest, dress yourself in Red Velvet, speak German Chocolate fluently while upside-down in Pineapple? Because. Because. Look past your own table. Sure, in this no-cake-walk of a world, savorCarrot, Apple, & Strawberry; weigh Sponge & Pound; choose Devil’sover Angel, but always pass the thickest slice to your neighbor. WPSU-FM Poetry Moment host, assistant editor of Presence, and Professor Emerita at Commonwealth U, Marjorie Maddox has published 17 poetry collections—most recently Seeing Things & Small Earthly Space, a story collection, 5 children’s books, and the anthologies […]
- [D. Coor, Making Apple Crisp on New Years Day](https://paintedpebblelit.com/d-coor-making-apple-crisp-on-new-years-day/): Deborrah Corr Making Apple Crisp on New Year’s Day The apple fits the curve of my left fingers. With the right, I wield the peeler. Its soundtrack, a soft scrape and grate as I rotate the globe, round and round until it trails a long tail that falls to the sink, like holiday wrappings that fell to the floor just days ago. I lift this damp ribbon. Its spiral is a triumph. No breaks in its twisted narrative. Translucent in the window’s light, it sings as it hangs and sways while bits of apple flesh cling and sparkle. The knife […]
- [rm mist, A Work in Process](https://paintedpebblelit.com/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 moon.Lucky for us a river flows through this scene, old as dirt, full of debris. River as mother, as redeemer, as cart. Let’s revisit the characters.A river to embody the divine of possibility-Isis or Eve, Kali Ma, Danu.An old conjurer calling her raven as she […]
- [B. McAfee, Groundhog](https://paintedpebblelit.com/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 to contemplate his shadow,shrugs his good shoulder,turns and heads down to the other sideof the swamp toward his fur-lined burrow,sports a rueful smileas he retrieves his slippers and newspaper,lights his pipe,gathers the popcorn and the remote,removes his surgical mask,sets the timer on his security system,replaces […]
- [J. Jules, What Did Widows Do Before the Internet?](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-jules-what-did-widows-do-before-the-internet/): Jacqueline Jules What Did Widows Do Before the Internet? Alone in the house, late at night,the toilet flushes with a whistle,followed by a squealing sound,like tires skidding on black ice. Is it urgent? Worth the extra priceof an after-hours plumber?Alone in the house, late at night,there is no one to ask except Google,who thinks I can wait till morning. What did widows do before the internet? Without a 24-hour source to consult,like warm arms inviting me back to bed. Jacqueline Jules is the author of Manna in the Morning (Kelsay Books, 2021), Itzhak Perlman's Broken String, winner of the 2016 […]
- [M. Griffiths, Moon Rocks](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-griffiths-moon-rocks/): Mary Anne Griffiths Moon Rocks My mother is in the turquoise sewing room, trapped with her hate of mending and thread, stitches, needles, and scissors, all things that cut and bind. I walk in, crying and crying, unable to remember why. But it’s all upheaval, an out-of-control thing I can’t possibly rein in with my littleness. She tears the cloth she has just sewn together and is wringing it over and over, and the room is too blue for me, and I can’t breathe, and the room pales and begins to fall away. She saves me by taking a murky […]
- [M. Duncan, Pinecone Dolls](https://paintedpebblelit.com/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 her husband, Brian, and the ghosts of two dogs, while their two soon-to-be-elderly tuxedo cats mostly sleep at home. Her poems have appeared in various places online and in print. Back to Issue
- [K. Lawson, Sauna Secret](https://paintedpebblelit.com/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 living. Publications: Discretionary Love, Months to Years, Thorn and Bloom, Pulses. Grateful to husband Jim and dog Leo for joining his journey. Back to Issue
- [J. Bellanca, The Prescription](https://paintedpebblelit.com/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 work. Back to Issue
- [S. Mockler, It's Only Tea](https://paintedpebblelit.com/s-mockler-its-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 side of us. You are going to want to know who these people are, she said. You’ll be running into them often in the next several months. She didn’t waste time with icebreakers. Instead, she took out a clipboard and pencil, rapping the pencil against […]
- [Corso-Maddox, Bolt of Enlightenment](https://paintedpebblelit.com/corso-maddox-bolt-of-enlightenment/): Marjorie Maddox Bolt After the photograph Bolt of Enlightenment by Paola J. CorsoEach bolt unbolts the brain that’s trainedonly to see one dimension. Angle your mind toward what’s perpendicular and parallel.Let thought splinter where it will.Shadows refuse nails, but each bolt’s opening fits perfectly your wide-alive eye.On the other side, imaginationwaits with telescopic sight: kaleidoscope of insight constructed by you. Paola Jo Corso is an award-winning author of poetry and fiction books set in her native Pittsburgh, with more public stairways than any other city in the country. She features them in her poetry and photography book, Vertical Bridges as […]
- [R. D. Martin, Little Red Riding Hood Is Done with Gaslighting](https://paintedpebblelit.com/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 grandmother’s wolfish maw. What big eyes she has, but yours are closed. You arrive riddled with bumps and bruises. The worst shade of yellow. Those hidden rocks are the shape of teeth.Even 80’s kids had tender skin. You are not a kid. These woods are […]
- [W. Doreski, Snowy Morning Near Cleveland](https://paintedpebblelit.com/w-doreski-snowy-morning-near-cleveland/): William Doreski Snowy Morning Near Cleveland Seen from the train, the slurof wooden houses muddledwith snow looks like disaster.The snow-slur is on the window,though, an ethereal avatarthat doesn’t damage anything.I’m glad. These square Ohiohouses look homey enoughto linger in the memory of thosereared here and gone awayto Chicago, LA, New Yorkwhere money flirts for real.Maybe tired of urban glamor,some will return. Maybeby train, the familiar back yards gaudy with snow, and the bluron the window a teardropany old traveler might shed. William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. He has published three […]
- [K. Bodrie, Where Do Trees Go after They Die?](https://paintedpebblelit.com/k-bodrie-where-do-trees-go-after-they-die/): Kat Bodrie Where Do Trees Go After They Die? I wake to hear a fresh craaack outside, a thud. The house hasn’t trembled but I don slippers and sweatshirt anyway, make sure we don’t need to get flashlights ready. Beyondsideways sleet and rain, pastthe wooden light pole, a hemlockfrom the public parkhas fallen into the street. Tomorrow, a tobogganed manwill chainsaw through the body, haul away limbs on his four-wheeler.But now sharp, splintery fingerspoint to snow-spewing heavensand all I can smell is Christmas. Kat Bodrie is the founder and editor of Bramble Press and bramble, an online poetry lit mag. […]
- [S. Mead, Marble Sky](https://paintedpebblelit.com/s-mead-marble-sky/): Stephen Mead Marble Sky These cut squares, these street blocks, a sea of them& feet on that ice, the gray wisps of hard streaks,reflections in a sheep's eye, the clear, the occluded,how it spreads, the expanse, how it may lift-----Lines in such space, clock hands, dagger arrowsagainst the blue, the cloud-white, & everywheretightropes with balancing the only net, balancingto keep feet steady, eyes all around,all around eyesstraight, straight aheadfor the time, the marble, the shoesno one else has ever walked in once. Resident artist/curator for The Chroma Museum, artistic renderings of LGBTQI historical figures, organizations and allies predominantly before Stonewall, […]
- [K. Lawson, making the call](https://paintedpebblelit.com/k-lawson-making-the-call/): Kirk Lawson making the call my dad needs a yearto overcome his angerson’s gay confessionI ask my husbandbefore his dad’s visitto share your storyyou complyyour dad’s simple questionare you happy? why not be the man on the moon always smiling 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 living. Publications: Discretionary Love, Months to Years, Thorn and Bloom, Pulses. Grateful to husband Jim and dog Leo for joining his journey. Back to Issue
- [H. Findlay, Two Haiku](https://paintedpebblelit.com/h-findlay-two-haiku/): Hugh Findlay Two Haiku all these sick people bent over like crescent moons— look us in the eye Passenger Pigeon, where did you go...finally?Cincinnati Zoo Hugh Findlay’s writing and photography have been published worldwide. Nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2020 for poetry, the Best Microfiction Anthology in 2024 for prose, and the Best of the Net Anthology in 2024 for photography, he is in the third trimester of life and hopes y’all like his stuff. IG: @hughmanfindlay. Web: https://www.hughmanfindlay.com Back to Issue
- [C. Greenfield, Dragons That Fly](https://paintedpebblelit.com/c-greenfield-dragons-that-fly/): Carole Greenfield Dragons That Fly I meet her at the front door every weekday morning. If I don't, she won't eat. If I do, she goes with me into the cafeteria, plucks up an apple or orange, sometimes a muffin, maybe even a stick of string cheese. “Take it for snack,” I tell her. “You never know. You may get hungry later.” She keeps her arms covered no matter how hot it gets. I don't want to know what she is hiding. The first half of the year, she wore a peach-colored parka that reached her knees. The school social […]
- [C. Greenfield, Black Doves & Fairy Wrens](https://paintedpebblelit.com/c-greenfield-black-doves-fairy-wrens/): Carole Greenfield Black Doves & Fairy Wrens My fragile student leaves her glasses at home so as not to have to see the world in too clear focus, tells me when she was back home on the island, she looked out her grandmother's kitchen window in time to glimpse a large bird on its nest, a paloma, she said it was and I pulled up photos of mourning doves, wanted to say I know from these birds, how just the other day one attempted to perch on the house light by my front door, scrabbled about trying to gain purchase […]
- [J. Butlett, Boyfriend](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-butlett-boyfriend/): Jacob Butlett Boyfriend a palimpsest based on Karin Gottshall’s “More Lies”Somedays I say I’m going to hang out with my boyfriend—even though I have no boyfriend—simply because the truthis too hard to bear. I’ve always felt lonely, ever sinceI was a kid, closeted, in remedial reading classes, unable to grasp the simplest books. Today, I drove alone down icy streets, wearing a flannel scarf, hopingpedestrians might wonder where I was going. I borroweda book of poems from the library, the building windowsfrosted. August flurries are a kind of omen, but I paythe cold no mind. I tucked the book under […]
- [R. D. Martin, Limn the Place](https://paintedpebblelit.com/r-d-martin-limn-the-place/): Rebecca D. Martin Limn the Place I’d like to think we all go to the coffee shop alone sometimes. I’ve done movies by myself, including every Wednesday of Spring 2002 after that baffling three-hour Victorian Poetry graduate seminar. Memento and Count of Monte Cristo from the center of the back row, returning to myself. Some people I know say they could never dine alone. Every Saturday morning for a year, I ate breakfast at Sunny Point Bakery in Asheville, North Carolina, only stopping after another patron took an interest. I have lived alone. Daytime, I wandered the silent apartment barefoot, […]
- [J. Kolber, Bear Claw Break Point](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-kolber-bear-claw-break-point/): Justin Kolber Bear Claw Break Point Content warning: This article discusses eating disorders, binge eating, and body image in detail. Don’t do it, Justin. But I need it. I was sitting in the parking lot of Dunkin’ Donuts in my rusted Toyota Camry filled with fast-food takeout containers, debating my order. I was an OB—original binger. There were no self-checkouts or DoorDash. I had to stare a human being right in the eyes. Rule one was obvious: Don’t just be my true self. Hi, I’m a 28-year-old lawyer, and I’d like to eat twenty of your delicious donuts really fast […]
- [J. H. Dracos-Tice, Back-to-School Pep Rally](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-h-dracos-tice-back-to-school-pep-rally/): Jennifer Hyde Dracos-Tice Back-to-School Pep Rally Musical chairs—pep rally fun—sounds mellifluous but is sonasty. One origin was a German game—“Trip to Jerusalem”— not enoughroom on boats for Jews trying to emigrate. 800 students and faculty watch the competition on the gym floor build as chairs disappear, kids fight to fittwo sets of hips betweenseat arms, flurry,fight, and backward tip—struggle, arm jam,kid caught underthe scrum, all of usstanding and screaming, school photographer twisting, traininghis long lens on the last onealone in his chair.We pound the bleachers,he pumps his fist,we laugh and shout his name. Jennifer Hyde Dracos-Tice (she/her) has poems in […]
- [M. Harper, Memoir Map 17](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-harper-memoir-map-17/): Mary Catherine Harper Memoir Map 17 Mary Catherine Harper, Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Award recipient and 2019 Poet in Residence at Cape Cod Fine Arts Work Center (see marycatherineharper.org), has two published collections and numerous poems in journals. As an artist, she has presented her hybrid art/poetry works at the Nelson Gallery in Lansing, MI. Back to Issue
- [A. Marcusa, The Last Pair of High Heels](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-marcusa-the-last-pair-of-high-heels/): Andrea Marcusa The Last Pair of High Heels While cleaning our basement, I found a pair of three-inch patent-leather heels resting under papers in a file cabinet. Elegant. Expensive. Forbidden. My hands shook. I could be arrested. No questions asked. Ten years ago, heels were banned. Men and women in blue-jean uniforms with Golden Age pins rounded up all heels and skirts and destroyed them. Now, we wear government-issued drab green pants, shapeless jackets, gray athletic shoes—double knotted. My fingers sweat holding the shoes. Should I leave them there or try to dispose of them without Government cameras recording me? […]
- [E. Gentle, What was it](https://paintedpebblelit.com/e-gentle-what-was-it/): Eirene Gentle What Was It Another heatwave. Don’t go out, they warn. Bolt doors, lock windows. Slam cracked lips on all that smoke and wind. It’ll pass. They say. Maybe. Until then, cage dry teeth. Snap when pressed. Crawl in the spice rack. Boil until flesh is white and flakes easily. Before this ash-tongue, before this murder-eye, what was it again? Hot we say meaning something else. Eirene Gentle writes, mostly lit, mostly little, usually from Toronto, Canada. Gratefully published in some amazing journals. Back to Issue
- [J.K. Hare, Torchlight](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-k-hare-torchlight/): J. Kramer Hare Torchlight Paths are blurred and boundariessoft in this landscape of cobwebs,smoke suffused. A scentI savor cautiously: to catchthat spice in a forest signalseither other people’s presence orimmediate danger. Sometimes both.To set a fire here—(noteI don’t say light)—to seta fire here may showmomentarily the glintof onyx of the spider’s orbed back,eight pinpoints markingeight eyes, her web’s topography.But smoke is night’s accomplice,and anything gossamer makesgood kindling. J Kramer Hare (he/him) hails from Pittsburgh, PA. He is a rock-climber, jazz-head, Best of the Net nominee, and volunteer critic with Pencilhouse. Look for his latest work in Rust and Moth, Magpie […]
- [E.A. Walker, How Lost Words Haunt Like Wings Behind Glass](https://paintedpebblelit.com/e-a-walker-how-lost-words-haunt-like-wings-behind-glass/): Elinor Ann Walker How Lost Words Haunt Like Wings Behind Glass Elinor Ann Walker holds a Ph.D. from UNC-Chapel Hill and is on the poetry staff at River Heron Review. Recent poems appear in AGNI, Nimrod, Plant-Human Quarterly, Plume, Poet Lore, The Southern Review, Terrain, and elsewhere. Her debut chapbook, Fugitive but Gorgeous (forthcoming), won the 2024 Sheila-Na-Gig First Chap Prize. Back to Issue
- [W. Wisner, Metaphors](https://paintedpebblelit.com/w-wisner-metaphors/): Wendy Wisner Metaphors Mom, this morning on my walk, a tree I couldn’t identifyhad already shed its leaves, but a lone white flower lit its branches. So odd, I thought. In a different autumn, you would have said the flower represented hopeor determination. You always thought in metaphors and taught me to do the same. But when I saw that flower, my mind blanked. It was as though the planet had gone dark without you. I don’t mean literal darkness.I mean the idea of nothing. The nothing that existed before I did. Under your skin, I was a clutch of […]
- [J. Roberts, The Shape of a Leaf](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-roberts-the-shape-of-a-leaf/): Jeannie E. Roberts The Shape of a Leaf Jeannie E. Roberts’ artwork is highly stylized and inspired by the organic forms, shapes, and design elements found outdoors. She is also an author and serves as a poetry editor for the online literary magazine Halfway Down the Stairs. For artistic samples, please visit: https://jrcreative.biz/art.htm. Back to Issue
- [J. Roberts, Oak, Your Quiet Strength](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-roberts-oak-your-quiet-strength/): Jeannie E. Roberts Oak, Your Quiet Strength Jeannie E. Roberts’ artwork is highly stylized and inspired by the organic forms, shapes, and design elements found outdoors. She is also an author and serves as a poetry editor for the online literary magazine Halfway Down the Stairs. For artistic samples, please visit: https://jrcreative.biz/art.htm. Back to Issue
- [M. Chester, Layers](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-chester-layers/): Meredith Chester Layers An early fall morning finds me rocking on my wooden porch, redolent with foliage and the aroma of coffee. My robe radiates rich, warm base notes of paper perfume fragrance strips. Meredith Chester studied creative writing at Florida State University. She now writes from beautiful Chattanooga, TN, with the support of the Green Ink Grove writing group and her lovable dog Macy. Her poems appear in La Piccioletta Barca, Assignment Literary Magazine's Micromag, The Clayjar Review, and others. Find her at https://www.bio.site/Meredithchester Back to Issue
- [Chen Chen, Evening](https://paintedpebblelit.com/chen-chen-evening/): Ariana Yeatts-Lonske Evening at the World Bird Sanctuary The room is an egg.We are inside the egg, and the barred owlcan hear our heartbeats.The barred owl can hear the whisperof mice feet under snow.The barred owl is here because the first face he saw was beakless. Irreversible illegal imprint—He wants to mate with all of you, his trainer says.He spends his days shrieking and searchingfor a nest.We laugh, but I feel myself become the shreds of small mammal in his talons. The sunlightthrough streaked feathers.The tree he wishes had a hollow.The wildcalling back in the night.The egg, the egg, the […]
- [A.C. Cambers, What the Birds Know](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-c-cambers-what-the-birds-know/): A.C. Cambers What the Birds Know Flamboyant birds flitthrough trees, singing sweet harmonies as I search for my scarf lost last December, when I used it as a blanket for an injured squirrel, who vanished with it before wildlife rescue arrived. If the birds know anything, they don’t say, only tease—Seek. Seek. A.C. Cambers is a member of NYU's Veterans Writing Workshop. Her plays have been featured in MCPA's Night of One Acts and City Theatre's Key Biscayne City Reads. Her poetry has appeared in Eunoia Review, Same Faces Collective, Dream of Rust and Glass, Last Leaves, and Defenestration. Back […]
- [K. McDonald, Fort Story True Story](https://paintedpebblelit.com/k-mcdonald-fort-story-true-story/): Kindra McDonald Fort Story True Story Content Warning: This piece references PTSD and military related sounds and language. Day after Veteran’s Day in this time capsule of a place, if not for the land the Army bought across a divided highway, a sanctuary that would have been miles, a maritime forest stretching all the way to the Bay, where they still tell false stories of first landings, and on my favorite trail listening to birds I try to unwind my brain of worry when there is a sudden explosion, a training device shaking the ground, reverberating off the old pines […]
- [V. Premkumar, at therapy intake/amid](https://paintedpebblelit.com/v-premkumar-at-therapy-intake-amid/): Vidya Premkumar at therapy intake she fills in a form asking where it hurtsshe writes ‘here’and points to the spacein between lines amid the long sentencesof migration a short pause on the wirewith wings folded Vidya Premkumar is a poet and educator known for her three poetry collections: Musing while Living, Living in an Indian Laputa, and a chapbook frame story. Her poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals, including Pan Haiku Review, Failed Haiku, and #FemkuMag. She lives in Kerala, India. Back to Issue
- [S. Lang, Unprepared](https://paintedpebblelit.com/s-lang-unprepared/): Susanna Lang Unprepared The cold shouldn’t have taken me by surprise, but I’m not ready. Can’t find my mittens, my wool socks have last winter’s holes. Roses and snapdragons freeze to their stems, still in their summer colors. Gingkos drop their yellow leaves.I hear the cries before I see the swirling V’s— hundreds of wide-winged birds, high in the sky, calling each other’s forgotten namesThe sandhill cranes, leaving late. All at once, like the gingkos. An old man stops on the Irving Park bridge, head tipped back. No one else looks up.At the confluence, the old heron stands unmoving on […]
- [J. Prinsen, Seasons in the Sun](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-prinsen-seasons-in-the-sun/): Jeannie Prinsen Seasons in the Sun Autumn road trip, New England woodsa crazy quilt spread before us. Heading home,we stopped for fast food – seventies popon the sound system, the two of us cry-laughing at the shallow lyrics, cheaprhymes like air, there, everywhere,Big Mac with a side of cheesy reverb.We were immune to pathos, swivelingon molded chairs, licking french-fry and tear salt from our fingers, stolid localsstaring us into another gasping gale. Gone, hard, out of time were words, not destinations we thought we’d ever reach. Telling a friend goodbye? Leave it to us to find that funny. Jeannie Prinsen […]
- [B. McAfee, Poetry](https://paintedpebblelit.com/b-mcafee-poetry/): Bob McAfee Poetry I screw words into a poem like forty-watt lightbulbs.Often, the poem smells like a dead fish by Tuesday.Other times, I bake it and leave it on the windowsillto cool like a freshly cooked apple and rhubarb pie.When I open the window to my soul, a burglar sneaks inand absconds with the best lines, usually escapingto Argentina, where he sells my words as burritosat a taco stand in the art district of Buenos Aires.My words appear thankless on the page, non-committal,forgetting, as it were, that they were conceivedas I hugged an interior wall of the house duringthe tornado […]
- [D. Zaccagnino, My Baby Fights Sleep](https://paintedpebblelit.com/d-zaccagnino-my-baby-fights-sleep/): Danielle Zaccagnino My Baby Fights Sleep The Way My Father Fights Death He thrashes wildly against the mattress. He screams.He has two tattoos of the New York Yankees’ logos and one of Jesus Christ. He is brand new to the world. Empathy has yet to find him. He wants his formula and a pacifier. He needs Medicaid to approve his application. He gets baby Tylenol in a syringe. He is sick, and it’s killing us all. He cuts off my sister and blocks my mother’s number. He beats on my mother’s shoulder and puts my sister’s sleeve in his mouth. […]
- [L. H. Ayers, Gratitude for What Is Seen & Unseen](https://paintedpebblelit.com/l-h-ayers-gratitude-for-what-is-seen-unseen/): Lana Hechtman Ayers Gratitude for What Is Seen & Unseen a haibunSudden moonlight slipping out of night sky’s sleeve of clouds. I want to name it foolhardy, but isn’t it something else? The mirror that holds your beloved’s breath after they’ve gone. The ladybug circling the glass of a sealed window. Lonely frog singing his late autumn song. All of these & also the withered lobelia that no longer velvets our eyes with purple.remembranceonly a few kisses of rain Lana Hechtman Ayers has shepherded over a hundred and fifty poetry volumes into print in her role as managing editor for […]
- [D. Brookshire, Rising Water Villanette](https://paintedpebblelit.com/d-brookshire-rising-water-villanette/): Dustin Brookshire & Kerry Trautman Rising Water Villanelle A contoured villanelle using "Little L.A. Villanelle" by Carol Muske-DukesWithout the threat of flood, I could learn to love the rain.Last fall, our neighborhood pond overflowed—rising, receding, and rising in seasonal refrain.We waded in water six inches deep, a pain-wicking cold up my shins. Cars sped past with wipersswiping, reminding— I could learn to love the rainif I could swish it away at will, like washing a stain.When I was a kid, I’d stomp in puddles and scream—voice rising, receding, refracting in wet refrain.I never thought much of storms, even if they […]
- [D, McVey, Daniel McKelvie](https://paintedpebblelit.com/d-mcvey-daniel-mckelvie/): David McVey Daniel McKelvie The organist played some slow Scottish psalm tunes. The congregation was a mixed bag, and many of them had hardly known Daniel McKelvie. Yes, there were some close friends and family, but their focus was more on the reading of the will, which was due next day. Many of the others had only tenuous links to the deceased, yet were losing earnings to be here. This rankled with some of them.‘When dis it start?’ said a woman four rows back. ‘Is it late?’‘Shhh,’ said the woman next to her, ‘it’s no eleven o’clock yet.’As soon as […]
- [W. D. Hubbard, Afterword](https://paintedpebblelit.com/w-d-hubbard-afterword/): Wayne Hubbard Afterword for Mary Oliveri can say what i want, but the poems are no more accidental. their outlinesstay present, trailing me through each season,waiting for stillness to give life its chance.they teach me how to study the winter,how to note where the redbud leans forwardinto the frostbite, how the wild grass lets the bitter wind lay its stalks supine. the leaves may blow dead in the fields, but they are not broken, not lost, nor discarded. they give their last offerings for summer’s fruits.they ask me to follow their lead. Wayne David Hubbard is an award-winning poet, a […]
- [J.K. Hare, Night Music](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-k-hare-night-music/): J Kramer Hare Night Music Our dishwasher is water tumbling over stone: a laminar, clear column, water smoothly breaksand clings to stone, polishing and polishing. Our dishwasher is a beehive near the waterfall:ever industrious, the laborers sing their labor’sdroning harmony, chorusing and chorusing.The waterfall and beehive (which together arethe dishwasher) hide around the corner fromour bedroom door. Beside me, you are sleeping. Awake, I hear them from the bed. Intermittently, a stagmust come to the stream, or another large mammal; I hear a great thirst slaked: slurping and slurping. I think to wake you; together we could sneakup to water, […]
- [K.D. Carter, What Helps](https://paintedpebblelit.com/k-d-carter-what-helps/): Karen DeGroot Carter What Helps With many thanks to Andrea GibsonCommunal grief. And wonder.Moments you’ve given yourself by heading out on that new path and spotting two deer, buck leading, doe lengths behind but intent,both beelining to a hidden thicketof comfort and care. I’ve seen many lately on hikes, I forgot or failedor just had no freaking time to evenconsider going on all those years of gettingthings done, so focused on the next thingand the next. Time helps. Time and hikestaken that lead to glimpses of deer, stately antlered or sublime,on a mission together or alone, until suddenly, silently, gone. […]
- [E. Murphy, Goodnight](https://paintedpebblelit.com/e-murphy-goodnight/): Erin Murphy Goodnight Mood The night has monsters under the monsters, cobwebs of clotted logic, jostled thoughts, jostled gods. In this rough translation of day, the darkest sparks come from shadows in your throat. No matter what the poets say: the glass of milk is dim and resin-thick. The shiver of history shrinks to the button on the blue black wool coat you wore in eighth grade,to the bus token that took you—fugitive from school—downtown,scaffold of smoke against a bruised sky. Blue black or black blue? Blue blue. Oh, patches of anger, chiseled misery. See the stars burnout or drown. […]
- [M. Eleftherion, Wanderer](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-eleftherion-wanderer/): Melissa Eleftherion Wanderer of the Wasteland Melissa Eleftherion (she/they) is a writer, a librarian, & a visual artist. Born & raised in Brooklyn, they are the author of three poetry collections including gutter rainbows (Querencia Press, 2024) & 12 chapbooks. Melissa lives in Northern California where she served as Poet Laureate for the City of Ukiah, manages the Ukiah Branch Library, & curates the LOBA Reading Series. Back to Issue
- [A. Dribben, Spotted](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-dribben-spotted/): Angela Dribben Spotted Touch Me Not Each flower hangsas an opulent orange mouth tangerine tongue lip-draped red spots ride the lickAs husks maturethe lightest touch expels their seedsDehiscence—the splitting or bursting open of a bur or woundSometimes the lightest touch is love Sometimes our armor must split open Angela Dribben is an astrologer and writer living in the Appalachian region of Virginia. She recently co-founded Great_Goodness—a YouTube show highlighting the good creatives and healers give to the world. Her writing can be found at Orion, Westchester Review, and others. Find Angela at www.twodogtarot.com and @Great_Goodness on YouTube. Back to Issue
- [H. Gray, It's Like That](https://paintedpebblelit.com/h-gray-its-like-that/): Hannah Jacqueline Gray it’s like that moment on a swing it’s like that moment on a swing,reaching the highest point,that feeling in your stomach whereyou feel suspended in the stale air,about to fall and crumple to the ground,a body on the concrete.that inky blackness—but somethinginnocuous—a sort of weight pressing against you.or maybe it’s coming from inside you:a blurry dread spreading from your heart,or maybe your head,through your hands, the hands you useto hold everyone but yourself, the hands you useto turn off your phone and pretend, pretend like you didn’t see anything.but still, it’s innocuous; it’s suspense, ink, a blurring […]
- [E. Murphy, Rhododendron](https://paintedpebblelit.com/e-murphy-rhododendron/): Erin Murphy Rhododendron I want a rhododendron, its waxy evergreen leaves, its bursts of purple in early spring. NoI want to be a rhododendron, sprawling yet hardy, a woman who sits on the bed’s edge and leans into your story while massaging lotion into her tapered arms and legs. Or maybe I want the word rhododendron, how it travels rhythmically along the roof of the mouth, the way a driver taps the rim of an open window to the beat of a song on the radio. But not just any song— a deep cut. A song she forgot she knew. […]
- [A. Burris, Egyptian](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-burris-egyptian/): Allison Burris Egyptian Pet Cemetery An excavation of pets preserved in the desert. 536 cats, 32 dogs,15 monkeys, a fox, and a falcon.Not mummified, but precious losswrapped in blankets, palm leaves. Some were toothless old seniors wearing beaded collars, cared forbeyond the life of their teeth.Somehow, it’s easier to imaginethe sun-warmed life of a happy feline than the object of a scribe’slongings through millennia of sand. One cat was laid upon a bird’s wing,a wish for an afterlife filled with feathers. Allison Burris lives in Oakland, CA where you can find her reading and searching for whimsy. She has a […]
- [L. Ayers, No One](https://paintedpebblelit.com/l-ayers-no-one/): Lana Hechtman Ayers No One Told Me All summer I was on edge.Grass dried to dust.Johnny jump ups supine by noon.Bees creaking along.Butterflies asleep in the yarrow.Our dog burying himself beneath hostas.My brother fried an egg on the hood of Dad’s Pontiac.He only had to try it once.Apocalyptic ripples of heat waves like bad omens.Wind chimes lost of song.Long glaring days of blood beating behind my eyes.I swallowed my tongue.Glasses of iced tea beaded up, wept.I was waiting for something already gone.The self who made up funny names for clouds,the one who lived inside my body before breasts. Lana Hechtman […]
- [E. Murphy, Between Symptom](https://paintedpebblelit.com/e-murphy-between-symptom/): Erin Murphy Between Symptom and Diagnosis Landscape of chronic fog and mist,ellipses linking what was and what is. Miners straining to hear a rescue team,tan line from a wedding ring. A baton mid-toss, an arrhythmic dance, a song bleeding from a prison cell. How when you try not to think of something, you think of nothing else. An unplanned nap. The lavender hour when you can’t tell bird from bat. A lake on an acutely blue afternoon when sky becomes water and water becomes air. The distance between belief and belief, prayer and prayer. Erin Murphy’s most recent poetry books […]
- [A. Yeatts-Lonske, Evening](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-yeatts-lonske-evening/): Ariana Yeatts-Lonske Evening at the World Bird Sanctuary The room is an egg.We are inside the egg, and the barred owlcan hear our heartbeats.The barred owl can hear the whisperof mice feet under snow.The barred owl is here because the first face he saw was beakless. Irreversible illegal imprint—He wants to mate with all of you, his trainer says.He spends his days shrieking and searchingfor a nest.We laugh, but I feel myself become the shreds of small mammal in his talons. The sunlightthrough streaked feathers.The tree he wishes had a hollow.The wildcalling back in the night.The egg, the egg, the […]
- [L. Johnson, Blackberry Days](https://paintedpebblelit.com/l-johnson-blackberry-days/): Leo Johnson Blackberry Days “These taste better wild,” I said. She looked up from the phone in her hand long enough to see the clamshell container of blackberries I held. “Oh, yeah? That’s great…” she trailed off.I kept on. “Where I grew up, you could go out into the woods and find blackberries growing wild all over. The bushes were everywhere, thick and heavy with fruit. Come June or July, we’d all go out there dressed in long sleeves and long pants so the thorns wouldn’t get us and harvest as many as we could. It was hotter than hell […]
- [A. Burris, Bibliophile](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-burris-bibliophile/): Allison Burris Bibliophile I could have fallen in love with books for the sound alone,the crackle of a spine, the whisper of my thumb along the edge,volumes could be written about the turning of a single page,or that thrum, flapping paper wobbles when you shakethe binding. The flicker of flipping through pages, never quite like a bird’s wing. Then consider the smell: musty inkspice. There’s the heft. It would be enough to have pagesthick as cream, empty choirs to fill with humming hands. It would be enough if they kept their stacking property,and it was only as blocks that you […]
- [D. Allen., Bliss](https://paintedpebblelit.com/d-allen-bliss/): Dee Allen. Bliss Stuffed burrito, freed from foil, wrapped repastIn a spinach tortilla, enjoyed on a blanket on the grass.Guacamolé, rice, salsa & black bean goodness, savoured with a friend.Hers, wrapped in wheat. Bottled orange juice, red grapes for meal's end.Picnic for two, in awe of in-progess biology.Twittering birds, insects fly, sunshine in the lap of ecology.Seated before an engraved headstone, flower bouquets, rows of crypts—Bizarre to the average normie—to me, it's bliss. Dee Allen. is an African-Italian performance poet based in Oakland, California. Author of 10 books--Boneyard, Unwritten Law, Stormwater, Skeletal Black, Elohi Unitsi, Rusty Gallows: Passages Against Hate, […]
- [J. Ziegler, The Ant Path](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-ziegler-the-ant-path/): Jenna Ziegler The Ant Path We’d watch the ant path,my brother and I,noses to the stone.He liked to help them,dropping offerings along their trail—leaves, sap, crumbs from his own lunch.He’d pluck aphids from the rosebushes(our mother thanked him for caring for the flowers)and place them before the ants—watched the feast.My brother smiled with dimples,proud to help the garden thriveand ants survive—setting gifts along their path,altering their direction and mealtimeas ardently as the current lapping a riverstone smooth. Jenna Ziegler is a poet with chronic illness who writes about grief, hope, and nostalgia, the solace of nature, and what it means […]
- [M. Talley, Sunflowers](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-talley-sunflowers/): Mary Ellen Talley Sunflowers Dinnerplate discsrise, bend,and kiss driveway concrete.I rescue a handfulwhile still-fresh yellowpetals spread.Now faces bright as a birthdayemerge from a tall vasein the room where you slept.I discard withered facesand dump tall stalksin the yard waste bin,tie the last tall blooms to a fence postas the seasons face change. Mary Ellen Talley’s poems have appeared in journals including Gyroscope, Deep Wild, and Banshee as well as in multiple anthologies. She has three published chapbooks: Postcards from the Lilac City from Finishing Line Press, Taking Leave from Kelsay Books, and Infusion online at Red Wolf Journal. Her website […]
- [P. Hostovsky, Romantic](https://paintedpebblelit.com/p-hostovsky-romantic/): Paul Hostovsky Romantic I’m thinking of moving to Keats Street in Winthrop because I love the idea more than the thing.I don’t love Winthrop, which is too close to the airport, and I don’t love moving, which is stressful and derailing. I love Keats, though, and I could take the trainto work from Revere. I love the idea of writing a poem on the train about my derailing move to Keats Street in Winthrop near Revere, the U-Haul with its mouth open and the long metal tongue of the ramp sticking out in the driveway, a table and chairs on […]
- [S. Vinson, Morning Glory](https://paintedpebblelit.com/s-vinson-morning-glory/): Susan Vinson Morning Glory Two clocks on the wall, dripping faucets,alternately fill in all the empty spaces;pulsing hands push the slivered moonthrough the crisping airwhile pulling purple larkspur from the powdery earthand weaving ribbons of birdsong into the warmscent of the sun rising throughsips of steaming coffee.Abby Lynne laughs in Abilenewhile my thoughts can’t hear themselves thinkuntil the uneven ticking synchronizes into silent rests.Chiholloli lies tucked in your pocket.Raindrops fill our eyes with tears.You’re a daisywhile the scarlet poppies of summer dream ofdancing dragonswith iron feathersas we soar past, clutching blue balloons.Gramma blows adhesive kissesthat will track your flightwith a […]
- [M. Kirby, The Wild Makes](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-kirby-the-wild-makes/): Merie Kirby design by Vitoria Faccin-Herman The wild makes no profit Merie Kirby grew up in California and now lives in North Dakota. She teaches at the University of North Dakota. She is the author of two chapbooks, The Dog Runs On and The Thumbelina Poems. Her poems have been published in Mom Egg Review, Whale Road Review, SWWIM, FERAL, Strange Horizons, and other journals. You can find her online at www.meriekirby.com.Vitoria Faccin-Herman is the Assistant Professor of Graphic Design for the University of North Dakota Art & Design department. She is a Brazilian graphic designer and educator whose work […]
- [S. Lang, Prescribed Burn](https://paintedpebblelit.com/s-lang-prescribed-burn/): Susanna Lang Prescribed Burn A fire goes before us. —Yves Bonnefoy Workers in fluorescent suits, helmeted, faceless, carry wands with fire at their tips. Flames run up the spiral path to the summit, leaving a trail of ash. Rivulets of smoke twist over the dark river— serpent mound burningTwo days later, the air is still acrid.The grasses will grow more lush next summer. And when I climb that path, the serpent’s coils will hold residual heat. The epigraph is from “A Stone” (Words in Stone, poems by Yves Bonnefoy, translated by Susanna Lang, University of Massachusetts Press, 1976) Susanna Lang’s […]
- [A. Careaga, Spindled](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-careaga-spindled/): Andrew Careaga Spindled We knew exactly what the words do not fold meant. We’d been folding stuff since kindergarten, when we creased construction paper and cut them into paper snowflakes to tape on our classroom walls. My older brother was the master folder of our family. He got into origami, folded thick colored paper into intricate swans of pastel green, yellow, purple, and pink. And we sort of knew what mutilate meant. Although to this day, my mind envisions not paper torn and ripped but cattle ritualistically slaughtered at night, under a full moon, for some kind of blood sacrifice. […]
- [K. Watt, Grandmother](https://paintedpebblelit.com/k-watt-grandmother/): Kelly Watt Grandmother She lies in bed, sick with night sweats and shivers, aching joints. Strange premonition of something not right. Incessant rain the crops have withered and died. The fire crackles like a living thing, rearranging itself. Grandmother tiptoes across the wooden floor on cold bare feet to coax the fire. Returns to the warmth of her rank bed. Juice of black beetroot and honey will clear the head. The clock ticks. Her only friends—ghosts from the past— trip soundlessly in and out her door, conversing in breathy voices only she can hear. This matter of their untimely fate. […]
- [E. Shack, Aubade](https://paintedpebblelit.com/e-shack-aubade/): Elizabeth Shack Aubade Walk up the worn stone stepsbetween pecan and redbud.Among ferns, dance.Bend back, face to sky.Greet the new sun.In fog or cloudy aftermath of storm,on grass littered with leaves,give thanks for the newworld of stone, rain,greenlight. Elizabeth Shack lives in central Illinois with her spouse, cat, and an expanding collection of art supplies and gardening tools. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Contemporary Haibun Online, Writers Resist, Daily Science Fiction, DailyHaiga, The MacGuffin, and other venues. Back to Issue
- [K. McDonald, Mission](https://paintedpebblelit.com/k-mcdonald-mission/): Kindra McDonald Mission I dream this month of Artemisof hunting and the wild animalsthat leave their trails across the grassat night. Some mornings, my pillow is dampfrom tears or paw prints. I imagine soon a rocket bearing the goddess’ name will circlethe moon searching for Orion in its orbit, searchingfor a way to Mars, as we flood and burn and fight,we look to the starswe will always hunt. Kindra McDonald is the author of the collections Teaching a Wild Thing, Fossils and In the Meat Years. She received her MFA from Queens University of Charlotte and is a poet artist […]
- [P. Hostovsky, Tiny House](https://paintedpebblelit.com/p-hostovsky-tiny-house/): Paul Hostovsky Tiny House It feels so goodto throw stuff out,toss what’s unneeded,which is just abouteverything, as it turns out,declutter the rooms,consolidate the stanzas into one tiny poem all about spaciousness. Paul Hostovsky's poems and essays appear widely online and in print. He has won a Pushcart Prize, two Best of the Net Awards, the FutureCycle Poetry Book Prize, the Muriel Craft Bailey Award from the Comstock Review, and has been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, and The Writer's Almanac. He makes his living in Boston as a sign language interpreter and braille instructor. Website: paulhostovsky.com Back to Issue
- [M. Michelle Bovée Stange, Exercises](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-michelle-bovee-stange-exercises/): Michelle Bovée Stange Exercises for living i.Look at the moonFold the distance between you like a fanHold her gently and give her to someone you loveRemember the feeling of her cratersii.Breathe in the shape of a circleSmooth it into a stoneSkip it over the water and watch it sinkInhaleiii.Fold your heart into a paper airplaneThrow it from the roof of the tallest skyscraper you can findLive in the apartment building where it landsFall in love Michelle Bovée Stange is an emerging writer exploring creative forms after over a decade in the research and journalism space. Her poetry and prose have […]
- [L. Collins, 5 Easy Steps](https://paintedpebblelit.com/l-collins-5-easy-steps/): Lorraine Collins 5 Easy Steps to Construct a Two-Person Hammock 1. Lay out your parts.Here we go Annie! You click on the YouTube video; you hate written instructions. Actually, I realise, you hate reading. And I wish you’d call me Annabel.2. Attach crossbar into base legs.C’mon babe, our first joint purchase, we’re officially an item! You beckon me onto the sofa, muss my hair; the hair I’ve just spent half an hour straightening to a silky finish. 3. Attach frame bar to leg base. Mm, love your perfume, it really turns me on! You place your arm around my shoulder, […]
- [T.R. Poulson, Windsurfing](https://paintedpebblelit.com/t-r-poulson-windsurfing/): T.R. Poulson Windsurfing Freestyle at Sherman Island The way the wind takes the ebb like a loverto build ramps for jumping on starboard tack,where I can’t stop tumbling hard, cold. The othersfly, spin, plane away. I try until I make an upwind three-sixty. Here, in the waterno other world exists. No mortgage circlingfast before a crash. It doesn’t matterif the man I love loves me—purple inkon notes and texts blown off. After the wind,I peel away my wetsuit, bare thighs new with bruise and fall. I falter flirting. Sendhim a smile among the chatter (clew-first grubbies, shove-its, forward loops). I […]
- [T. Kranz, space](https://paintedpebblelit.com/t-kranz-space/): Tova Kranz Space Coast Florida, I love you, but I couldn’t stay. Long grasses grow in deep water, butthe more acres you clear, the lessthere is to burn. The spaceship Discoverylaunched on its second Return to Flightmission on my 12th birthday. I watched from my stoop and wished I could go with it. Ever since then, I’m always looking East. Florida, the heat never bothered me I just wish the breeze reached Orlando more. When the sunlight lays heavy on my hair, I feel like I am back, but the air is too thin,and where do I go when I’m […]
- [J. Purdy, In Power](https://paintedpebblelit.com/j-purdy-in-power/): Jessica Purdy In Power Source Notes  Yaffa, Joshua. New Yorker, 3/7/2022, Vol. 98 Issue 3, p30-43. 14p. 8 Color Photographs.  McNaught, Harry. 500 Words To Grow On. Illustrated by Harry McNaught, Random House New York, 1973. Masey, Mary Lou. Branislav the Dragon: A New Tale of Old Russia. Illustrated by Helen Basilevsky, David McKay Company, Inc., 1967. Jessica Purdy's poems and microfiction have appeared in About Place, Litro, Gargoyle, Gone Lawn, Radar, and MacQueen’s Quinterly. Her two recent chapbooks are The Adorable Knife: Poems after the "Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death" (Grey Book Press), and You’re Never the Same: Ekphrastic […]
- [K. Pobo, These Days](https://paintedpebblelit.com/k-pobo-these-days/): Kenneth Pobo These Days My Body I want to fly, take my place among clouds. It’s hard to soar when wounds keep me on the ground. Still, violets cover the ground, blue ones, white ones. A box turtle makes her way slowly across our garden bed with multi-colored cosmos and a snow-on-a-stem dahlia. Ground has often been kind to my body. When I get tired, ground says, “Go ahead. Lay on me.” Why resist? I see planes in the sky, feel a touch of jealousy, which fades. I soar among petals. Kenneth Pobo has a new book out called At […]
- [A. Stenzel, Could you](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-stenzel-could/): Annie Stenzel Could you watch something die and let it? With a mayfly, you must. An adult mayfly’s life is one long day, and then curtains. First, Ephemera vulgata, your two years or so as larvae, occupying crevices on a rocky bottom. Then, underwater, creepingover the river bed as newly-hatched little nymphs, you cleanse your world, eating algae and other sub-aquatic tidbits. You have two eyes and six legs and stay busy until the time comes for you to rise to the surface, jettison that first skin, and take flight, maybe. But before you are airborne, many of you are […]
- [M. Carr, Silence is](https://paintedpebblelit.com/m-carr-silence-is/): Melissa Eleftherion Silence is a Girl Shaped Melissa Eleftherion (she/they) is a writer, a librarian, & a visual artist. Born & raised in Brooklyn, they are the author of three poetry collections including gutter rainbows (Querencia Press, 2024) & 12 chapbooks. Melissa lives in Northern California where she served as Poet Laureate for the City of Ukiah, manages the Ukiah Branch Library, & curates the LOBA Reading Series. Back to Issue
- [S. Clark, Species](https://paintedpebblelit.com/s-clark-species/): Sarah CR Clark 120 + 1 species of Sepiida  When the end comesyou can have my standard-issue space suitI would rather refashion my skininto a cuttlefish here at homeadapting at the speed of thoughtNOW red with bumps to blend into coralNOW pulse black and white to hypnotizeI will glide through the turquoise sea not the ruddy dust of Marsin a clinically sterile roverNOW toasted white rough like sandto soar within this inner spaceplucking fresh crab with my tentaclesinking with the sheer joy of being earthbound Sarah CR Clark is a writer and former Lutheran pastor living in Minnesota. She is […]
- [N. Lee Derivation](https://paintedpebblelit.com/n-lee-derivation/): Nissa Lee Derivation Less than one percent of Earth’swater is potable. Drinkable.The fact leaves me thirsty,and searching the internetfor water filtration systems.Potable comes from Old Frenchcomes from the Latin potare.Related to potion and poison.Ninety-nine percent of Earth’s wateris poison to me. Salty or swimmingwith bacteria. My kid has been coughing all winter.I’ve brewed teas and poured thicksyrups onto spoons. Transformed water into eucalyptus mist. Suctioned snotand sprayed salt. Parent is derived frompotion maker. I incant, here, drink this,as the ocean creeps closer to our door. Nissa Lee lives and writes in Maryland. Her work has appeared in Stirring, Philadelphia Stories, […]
- [S. Clark Outdoor Farmers Market](https://paintedpebblelit.com/s-clark-outdoor-farmers-market/): Sarah CR Clark At the Year’s First Outdoor Farmers Market  Spring is exploding with asparagusIn the North, winter’s menu has finally expiredNow old men dive into buckets of red rhubarbSun-starved and ravenous for fresh pea pods We trade winter’s northern menu forBaskets of living mizuna, arugula, spinachOverflowing pea pods flirt with thawing sensesI am seduced by radishesDizzied by deep baskets of leafy greenPiles of wild ramps tamed across table tops nearYet more radishesAnd the spring wind’s whispered promisesEmerald and crimson garlicky ramps in my hand and Women too now bury themselves in rhubarbThe rushing warm winds of Spring and its […]
- [H. King Always in my Pockets](https://paintedpebblelit.com/h-king-always-in-my-pockets/): Hilary King Always In My Pockets Envy slept in this morning, and I let her. I walk through our apartment, drinking peppermint tea, the bright scent filling the high ceilings of our small rooms. Later, over wine and take-out, I’ll tellEnvy everything. Wait– Maybe I’ll cook. Crepes, because when I’m not jealous, I’m French. Or British and brainy or still American, but younger, taller, blonder, not bogged down, in my pockets a stone for everything I want but lack. Originally from the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, Hilary King is a poet now living in the San Francisco Bay Area […]
- [A. Fee, Reprieve](https://paintedpebblelit.com/a-fee-reprieve/): Arvilla Fee Reprieve I sink into the sofa,letting my arms falllimply to each side.Head back,eyes closedI breathe in the stillness,allowing it to fill my lungs.Upon release,I feel the tension leavemy body,the pressing weightof children,today’s dinner menu,dishes—laundry.In that one moment,I let it all go—ease my shouldersdown,tell myself it’s OK to be still,to simply existin this tiny pocketof time. Arvilla Fee has been published in numerous presses, and her poetry books, The Human Side, This is Life, and Mosaic: A Million Little Pieces are available on Amazon. Arvilla’s life advice: Never travel without snacks. To learn more, visit her website and her […]
- [P. Valdata, Commuter](https://paintedpebblelit.com/p-valdata-commuter/): Pat Valdata Commuter Tardy sun gilds the silver queen while Tina singssoft and rough. I didn’t catch enough z’s, so Rise Up Coffee comes to my rescue. My spirits should rise upwith each sip, but I am not morning’s minion. I slip on oversize sunglasses against the morning’s glare. Sixteen ounces later, I still want to doze. But the lightcatches up to the comingworkday like a snooze alarm,irritating me to wake the heck up already. Annual cicadas strum zee-zee-zee while Waze’s British lady voicedirects me to the E-Zed pass lane, missing the pun. No fun. Pat Valdata’s poetry manuscript about […]
- [T. Kranz, Tidal Spring Redux](https://paintedpebblelit.com/t-kranz-tidal-spring-redux/): Tova Kranz Tidal Spring Redux The sun is high already: the skycloudless blue with the crisscross contrails, the sun glints off passenger planes and C-130s.Garden, mound of woodchips, and palm trees glow. The moon is faint and shimmers overa live oak branch; over the pluff mud the moon is a shrinking wedge drawing water back over the tidal river banks. Leaves and ripening seed pods of arugula fling themselves from trellises. The mud and the mist and the morning all saythe same thing: you are here, nowact like it. Tova Kranz earned degrees from Florida State University and the University […]
- [H. Zheng, Why We're Not Rushing](https://paintedpebblelit.com/h-zheng-why-were-not-rushing/): Huina Zheng Why We’re Not Rushing to Say “I Do” After Six Years Living Together Because both Yong’s and my income are unstable. Because he’s almost always on business trips, leaving us more apart than together. Because when he returns to our apartment at night, I’m engrossed in my Taobao live streams selling the latest fashion, while he dives into mobile games. Because our savings aren’t enough for a down payment on even a modest two-bedroom in the suburbs, despite our parents’ willingness to deplete their life savings to help us buy a home—a concept they insist on, opposing the […]

## Pages

- [Issue 6 Winter 2026](https://paintedpebblelit.com/issue-6-winter-2026/): Barbara CrookerListenI want to tell you something. This morningis bright after all the steady rain, and every iris,peony, rose, opens its mouth, rejoicing. I want to say,wake up, open your eyes, there’s a snow-covered roadahead, a field of blankness, a sheet of paper, an empty screen.Even the smallest insects are singing, vibrating their entire bodies,tiny violins of longing and desire. We were made for song.I can’t tell you what prayer is, but I can take the breathof the meadow into my mouth, and I can release it for the leaves’green need. I want to tell you your life is a blue coal, a sliceof orange in the mouth, cut hay in the nostrils. The cardinals’red song dances in your blood. Look, every month the moonblossoms into a peony, then shrinks to a sliver of garlic.And then it blooms again.
- [Issue 5 Fall 2025](https://paintedpebblelit.com/issue-5-fall-2025/): Barbara CrookerListenI want to tell you something. This morningis bright after all the steady rain, and every iris,peony, rose, opens its mouth, rejoicing. I want to say,wake up, open your eyes, there’s a snow-covered roadahead, a field of blankness, a sheet of paper, an empty screen.Even the smallest insects are singing, vibrating their entire bodies,tiny violins of longing and desire. We were made for song.I can’t tell you what prayer is, but I can take the breathof the meadow into my mouth, and I can release it for the leaves’green need. I want to tell you your life is a blue coal, a sliceof orange in the mouth, cut hay in the nostrils. The cardinals’red song dances in your blood. Look, every month the moonblossoms into a peony, then shrinks to a sliver of garlic.And then it blooms again.
- [Issue 4 Summer 2025](https://paintedpebblelit.com/issue-4-summer-2025/): Barbara CrookerListenI want to tell you something. This morningis bright after all the steady rain, and every iris,peony, rose, opens its mouth, rejoicing. I want to say,wake up, open your eyes, there’s a snow-covered roadahead, a field of blankness, a sheet of paper, an empty screen.Even the smallest insects are singing, vibrating their entire bodies,tiny violins of longing and desire. We were made for song.I can’t tell you what prayer is, but I can take the breathof the meadow into my mouth, and I can release it for the leaves’green need. I want to tell you your life is a blue coal, a sliceof orange in the mouth, cut hay in the nostrils. The cardinals’red song dances in your blood. Look, every month the moonblossoms into a peony, then shrinks to a sliver of garlic.And then it blooms again.
- [Archive 2](https://paintedpebblelit.com/archive-2-2/): Issue 1 Fall 2024 Issue 2 Winter 2025 Issue 3 Spring 2025 Issue 4 Summer 2025
- [Home](https://paintedpebblelit.com/)
- [Issue 3 Spring 2025](https://paintedpebblelit.com/issue-3-spring-2025/): Barbara CrookerListenI want to tell you something. This morningis bright after all the steady rain, and every iris,peony, rose, opens its mouth, rejoicing. I want to say,wake up, open your eyes, there’s a snow-covered roadahead, a field of blankness, a sheet of paper, an empty screen.Even the smallest insects are singing, vibrating their entire bodies,tiny violins of longing and desire. We were made for song.I can’t tell you what prayer is, but I can take the breathof the meadow into my mouth, and I can release it for the leaves’green need. I want to tell you your life is a blue coal, a sliceof orange in the mouth, cut hay in the nostrils. The cardinals’red song dances in your blood. Look, every month the moonblossoms into a peony, then shrinks to a sliver of garlic.And then it blooms again.
- [Issue 2 Winter 2025](https://paintedpebblelit.com/issue-2-winter-2025/): Barbara CrookerListenI want to tell you something. This morningis bright after all the steady rain, and every iris,peony, rose, opens its mouth, rejoicing. I want to say,wake up, open your eyes, there’s a snow-covered roadahead, a field of blankness, a sheet of paper, an empty screen.Even the smallest insects are singing, vibrating their entire bodies,tiny violins of longing and desire. We were made for song.I can’t tell you what prayer is, but I can take the breathof the meadow into my mouth, and I can release it for the leaves’green need. I want to tell you your life is a blue coal, a sliceof orange in the mouth, cut hay in the nostrils. The cardinals’red song dances in your blood. Look, every month the moonblossoms into a peony, then shrinks to a sliver of garlic.And then it blooms again.
- [Issue 1 Fall 2024](https://paintedpebblelit.com/issue-fall-2024/): Barbara CrookerListenI want to tell you something. This morningis bright after all the steady rain, and every iris,peony, rose, opens its mouth, rejoicing. I want to say,wake up, open your eyes, there’s a snow-covered roadahead, a field of blankness, a sheet of paper, an empty screen.Even the smallest insects are singing, vibrating their entire bodies,tiny violins of longing and desire. We were made for song.I can’t tell you what prayer is, but I can take the breathof the meadow into my mouth, and I can release it for the leaves’green need. I want to tell you your life is a blue coal, a sliceof orange in the mouth, cut hay in the nostrils. The cardinals’red song dances in your blood. Look, every month the moonblossoms into a peony, then shrinks to a sliver of garlic.And then it blooms again.
- [Submissions Page](https://paintedpebblelit.com/submissions-page/): Submission guidelines Please note! Our Guidelines have changed! We now are accepting work on Duosoma. Welcome to Painted Pebble’s community. PPLM is a quarterly, no fee/no payment publication which celebrates short form writing, no matter what the genre. Our issues are released online and in PDF in the first month of each quarter, (July 1-31, October 1-31, January 1-31, and April 1-30) in a format which can be printed out and easily distributed in communities, anywhere someone might enjoy a little lit. While we have calls under each genre, we don’t feel genre’s divisions are useful for our readers and […]
- [Editorial Team](https://paintedpebblelit.com/editorial-team/): Editorial Team (EIC & Founding Editor) Sarah Ann Winn’s (she/her) Alma Almanac was selected by Elaine Equi as winner of the 2017 Barrow Street Book Prize. She’s the author of five chapbooks, most recently, Ever After the End Matter (Porkbelly, 2019). Find her at Poet Camp, an online community she founded in 2015. (Editor) Twila Liggitt (she/her) brings 15 years of writing experience as an articulate writer, editor, communicator, and expert in producing compelling storytelling for global audiences. She’s worked as a music and food writer in both Los Angeles and New York City, has been published in Forbes, led […]


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