My intense intents indent the bubbles
My intense intents indent the bubbles of possibles, at times a severe pop reports a part of the future is dropped, or its dilatory delivery retreats with reproach from my untimely approach, hissing away escapadely.
Read MoreFeatured Works: Week of March 3 (Aging)
As Winter gradually ekes away and spring’s renewal approaches, it’s a good time to reflect on life cycles, and in particular, aging. “Recognized” by Michael Keshigian reflects on the nature of aging. Literally. In “Old Clyde and Mrs. Hill,” a short prose piece, David Sapp recalls elderly neighbors from childhood. “The Blurring of Edges” by David Sapp traces the changes in thinking from youth to maturity. “The Garden of Ramanatom” by Thomas Dorsett is a lyrical look at how nature’s life cycles mimic our...
Read MoreFeatured Works: Week of Dec. 25 (New Year)
The goal, for each new year, is to learn from our past so that we do not repeat our mistakes. Our contributors this week gaze into the past, future and present, helping us navigate a new path. “Yet Another Year” by Bibhu Padhi looks backward — and forward — with a mix of hope and trepidation. “The World As It Could Be” by Nathan Large imagines a dystopian future. “Against Black Riders from the Desert” by Henry Goldkamp contemplates the nature of existence over a round of...
Read MoreThe World As It Could Be
They lay on the hood of Joe’s car, Joe and Tom, and stared at the cloudy sky. Shapes rolled past overhead, spirals and angles of white, words written across the dawning blue. They read what the sky had to say, content for a time just to lie still. After a while, Tom spoke up. The dreams were troubling him again. Joe was the only one who would even listen. If Tom didn’t say something, he would burst; if he said something to the wrong person, they’d label him crazy. “I had more dreams, Joe.” “Why am I not surprised? Weird ones, like...
Read MoreThe Church of Los Corales
The cold wind was unexpected. After all, it was the middle of July, and this was the Caribbean. The church of Los Corales was cemented into the side of a mango-covered mountain just west of Santiago. It was not nestled like most mountainside churches; rather, it was cemented. A new building for an old generation. White painted cement, a slate porch, and frosted white doors. Around the church, there were a few strikingly new houses owned by returning Americans, and a bodega that filled at eleven in the morning and was empty again soon after. On that day it was raining. A heavy downpour...
Read More