by Co Clark i dreamt last night i sat under an olive tree eating a watermelon slice and in the distance i saw a kite flown by a free man happy, free, and fed as we all should be
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My Father’s Kettle
by Gianna Hayes A black handle, plastic and curved comfortably enough, familiar with the feel of hands weary yet eager. A charred bottom, sooty from the burnt meals spilled on the stovetop. A steel spout : outpouring of hot water. A lever to switch, waiting …
My Mother’s Guitar
by Ellen McAllister It sits, brown and smooth with natural wood swirling, twirling about. With a blue paisley strap that she always wears with a smile and Six golden strings strummed, plucked, and picked. I’ve heard the sweet silky notes, felt them warming my soul. …
Traffic Lights
by Liam Kenehan Colors spilled on the blacktop canvas of a parallel world; Protected from the apathetic tires and hurried footprints, By the glistening laminate of post rain in moonlight. Man’s invention had never birthed such beauty. Nature and technology were united in marriage, Their …