Fiction

Category

He Was Beautiful by Ron Moore

When tragedy strikes we become sleuths. We reconstruct events to establish the belief that it should have been us, it could have been us, it was our fault or we caused their death somehow. The days pass into weeks, the weeks years until the memory fades and details dim.

Fiction: A Life Like This by Laura E. Smith

A new short story by Laura E. Smith

Must-read

Two Poems by Allen Ebert

Happy Birthday, Old Man! Every birthday I weigh less. I’m down to the last hole on my belt. There’s more hair in the clothes dryer, than...

Three Poems by Michael Gushue

Turning ElegyLeaving is all we have.It’s your not being here speaking.Leaving the door ajar, the tableswept—turning into something less than comfort. What did you...

Two Poems by Jim Smith

Eating the Sun At the Alburgh VT eclipse festival, children sit at a picnic table drawing the sun with black crayons. A dragonfly brushes my...
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