A Crown of Crows by Melissa Coss Aquino
“A Crown of Crows” by Melissa Coss Aquino I Upon her return she will be different. They gave her a clean slate, upon which to write a new life, for herself and me. New and transformed, no shadow of unmet hunger in her eyes; gone the bony grip, insatiable in its seeking and want. She will be clean and new and all things shiny like the plastic beads I used to love to wear in second grade. Will I be a reminder...
Leah by Lee Ingram
“Leah” by Lee Ingram There is sadness in the movement of my mother’s hands, a hesitation in the way she wraps her arms around my shoulders. There always has been. That hesitation dogs her steps, even basic movements like breathing, like sleeping. She walks gently so as to not disturb her sister, sleeping in the other room. She always has, like quiet is all she knows how to be anymore. We have the same whiskey...
Interloper by Berwyn Moore
“Interloper” by Berwyn Moore Like a hand, insomnia covers her mouth. She thinks of chores and spills and bills unsent, of Gertrude’s cough and fourteen weeks of drought. The attic shakes. Her body bristles. The misspent night she wills to light and fuss, to the chaos of breakfast, laundry, kids with gifts of earth between their toes, diversions from the loss of sleep, the jangled nerves, the doubtful worth of...
Remember This by Darlene Taylor
“Remember This” by Darlene Taylor “There’s no certain time to things,” I remembered mama saying as she reached for the canisters of flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and set them on the counter top. She sprinkled water in the flour and seasoned it with a dash of salt and baking powder. She didn’t use spoons. Her fingers were brown, the color of maple syrup with rounded nails. Working hands. She dug into the...
Las Mujeres by Gerda Govine Ituarte
“Las Mujeres” by Gerda Govine Ituarte watch daughters who listen with their eyes whose voices bloom they flower between rain drops weave their lives inside dreams with grandmothers’ breath future awakes in mouth of now. ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Gerda Govine Ituarte Artist Statement: Her work appeared in The Altadena Poetry Review Anthology,...
Great-Grandmother Annetta by Lisa Lutwyche
“Great-Grandmother Annetta” by Lisa Lutwyche Once I learned to watch her hands I forgot to be afraid of her whiskers. Twisted driftwood fingers tied with the blue ropes of her veins. Skin like draped patterned silk, or spotted wax, melted, crinkled, folded over sinewy bands. Quick machines, those deft fingers snapped green beans like cold jade, “pop-clink, pop-clink, pop-clink” into a thick white bowl with...
The Suitcase by Rinat Harel
“The Suitcase” by Rinat Harel 1. Lifting the lid, she said, “Bonbons for my girls”; ghosts in her German accent floating about. “Dollhouse table,” my sister declared. “A sofa, and this chair.” Collecting the wrapping paper, I inhaled Granny’s flowery perfume, and imagined her house in London. 2. The drifting desert sand, Mother removes from Granny’s gravestone...
Post-Post-Traumatic Stress by Samantha Lamph
“Post-Post-Traumatic Stress” by Samantha Lamph Trauma is passed down, inherited from past generations like heirloom jewelry or black and white photographs of family we’ll never meet; it is a recessive gene waiting to be expressed. I hear her screaming, that ancient woman. I feel the thrash, the flood of adrenaline that left her soul in ruins yet preserved her body, so we both could survive. In my pulse, she...
Flight Theory by Alison Adair
“Flight Theory” by Alison Adair Gorlice, 1908 ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Allison Adair’s recent poems appear or are forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Best New Poets 2015, Boston Review, Los Angeles Review, Mid-American Review, Mississippi Review, Missouri Review (Poem of the Week), Shenandoah, Southwest Review, and Third Coast, among other...
The Saint of Memory: The Peas by Linda Ravenswood
“The Saint of Memory: The Peas” by Linda Ravenswood She came from the West where rain measures the hours in drops against the house, where land breaks into great crags along the coast of water. Her high, gothic façade of radio hollowly sings through the sitting room where she’s been waiting against the window panes; it’s raining down the garden rows, and the trellis is beating the overhang like a metronome....
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The Deepest Place Jul 26, 2025
