The Beginner by Janet Fitch
“The Beginner” by Janet Fitch She pulled her chair up to the table and sat. She piled her chips by her elbow. She played Noir. She played Rouge. She put a stack on 9 and lost. The table was hot. The table went cold. She anted. She passed. She called. She held pairs. She lay down with a flourish a grand royal flush. She played games she didn’t know the rules for, where things shook and jingled and smacked down...
How will you begin? by Barbara Rockman
“How will you begin?” by Barbara Rockman ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Barbara Rockman Artist Statement: Barbara Rockman teaches poetry at Santa Fe Community College and in private workshops in Santa Fe, New Mexico. She is workshop director for Wingspan Poetry Project offering classes for women who are victims of domestic violence. Her poems...
Woman of Myriad Seeds by Margaret Stetler
“Woman of Myriad Seeds” by Margaret Stetler She has seeds she has given away that are worth nothing. She says they are wild and rare. She has seeds and doesn’t know what flower they came from. She says they are...
Adie by Jay Merill
“Adie” by Jay Merill I was staring at this peach on the fruit stall but not because I wanted to eat it. Well, maybe I did a little bit but I never had any money on me at the time. I felt in my pockets and as usual, they were empty. You know something, I’ve never eaten a peach before in my life. How sad is that? Makes me feel like a fool. But I should be saying who I am. My name’s Adie and I live,...
The Potential of Yellow Roses by Susan J. Erickson
“The Potential of Yellow Roses” by Susan J. Erickson I spent my formative years leading fish to water. I heard my mother thinking, You are not living up to your potential. Then I was struck by static electricity...
Selkie by Sandra Cross
“Selkie” by Sandra Cross To earn my way to the beach I have to make it through the back yard past nodding buds of sour-grass their white corms underground waiting to be next spring’s weeds. Past the choking pepper tree its bark sliced by narrow wire golden sap marking a slow trail down its trunk, past the Azalea. smothered by sweet woodruff. Past a gopher proof hole waiting to be dug for the lavender...
There Was a Door by Leatha Kendrick
“There Was a Door” by Leatha Kendrick There was a door and her hand on its lever. In too many clothes – her coat’s wide cape collar, her high button shoes, a bonnet heavy and huge whose beruffled lining frames a thin face. Enough to smother a watcher. For more than a century she’s stood, not going through. Was she leaving or coming...
Rebuilding the ’63 Beetle by Nancy Krim
“Rebuilding the ’63 Beetle” by Nancy Krim The engine needs rebuilding he said and she said I’ll do it. But what about the camshaft? She said I can see it slipping there, sliding against the pulley I can see where the problem is. He said you’ll never get it down off the blocks to tow it, you won’t know where to order parts, how to disassemble— I know all about dissembling, she said. I’ve done it all my life....
On the Need to Re-establish Sovereignty Over My Own Heart by Trina Porte
“On the Need to Re-establish Sovereignty Over My Own Heart” by Trina Porte because the city machines hum even if they do not sing because the heart is actually made of muscle because the silver in my hair will one day be spent because the sun will rise on the day i am no longer married just as it will each day after ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here ...
The Last I Saw Mitsou by Karin Cecile Davidson
“The Last I Saw Mitsou” by Karin Cecile Davidson The last time I saw Mitsou, she was crying into an embroidered handkerchief that belonged to my mother. Mother believed in things that lasted. Linen, perfume, clothbound books. Newlyweds, Mitsou and I lived in the fifth-floor walkup. Small rooms with enormous views. Below us, the courtyard, mottled with pale brown stones. Our windows faced the pianist,...
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The Deepest Place Jul 26, 2025
