Vision by Jill Boyles
May13

Vision by Jill Boyles

  “Vision” by Jill Boyles   She saw her mother at a garage sale on a spring blue morning chatting with a woman behind a card table. She closed her eyes and saw her mother’s eyes: translucid gray irises and lids bordered by brown eyeliner. The skin on her face soft and slightly fuzzy. She opened her eyes and saw her mother holding up a white blouse and imagined her saying to the woman, “Only a dollar for this?”...

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Advice from Mother on Your One Less Day by Les Bernstein
May13

Advice from Mother on Your One Less Day by Les Bernstein

  “Advice from Mother on Your One Less Day” by Les Bernstein   skip obligation’s inescapable sins wiggle out of pigeonholes enjoy happenstance and flux don’t forget to floss clog the clunky machinery of belief refuse templates of self ignore persistent memory elbows off the table airbrush your self portrait invite farcical pratfalls avoid hard labor’s invitation to bruise shoulders back stand up...

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Autumn Melancholy with Birds by Margaret Chula
May13

Autumn Melancholy with Birds by Margaret Chula

  “Autumn Melancholy with Birds” by Margaret Chula   Morning rain is tender, inviting me to slow down. How it taps the leaves before their final fall. Distant mountains obscured by fog are still there, even though I can’t see them. Will Mother die in autumn, hands nested in her lap, knuckles veined and buckled like the leaves of sugar maples? The bird feeder outside her window is empty. Once she told me she...

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The Tulip-Flame by Chloe Honum
May13

The Tulip-Flame by Chloe Honum

  “The Tulip-Flame” by Chloe Honum   My sister’s painting this: a hill, a lane that winds around the hill, and a wide field of tulips with a centered tulip-flame. She rolls her brush through gray and adds the rain in tiny flicks, glinting arrows of cold. My sister’s painting this: a hill, a lane. Last year our mother died, as was her plan. It’s simpler to imagine something could have intervened. The centered...

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At Lock and Dam No. 10 by Kathleen Kelly
May13

At Lock and Dam No. 10 by Kathleen Kelly

  “At Lock and Dam No. 10” by Kathleen Kelly   Twenty-two minutes without Coppertone, the first warning sign, a pinking around the eyes, the ears. The skin shimmers, opal-white. I stay afloat, my face lifting toward Iowa skies. A beginner. I was once afraid of the water, the skimming dragonflies, territorial mallards. A quick kick of my ankle jetties me farther. Away from shore. Farther away from her. Earlier,...

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