Jun 1, 2017 | Poetry, Rene Ostberg
After traumatic endings, there are no fresh starts. No fresh mornings, no fresh facing of the day. Your worldview changes, your face to the world changes, your facing yourself in the mirror in memory in mind in the morning at midnight. At night, I at least understand...Jun 1, 2017 | Penney Knightly, Poetry
Empty cup that is how I think of the organ turned over like a mound of dirt, sleeping and awake, earthly exhale, between two ham legs. You would have thought there would have been a lesson, a mandatory course, the steps to work it out: we give tests for driving,...Jun 1, 2017 | Poetry, Wilderness Sarchild
a soft thing that purrs in your lap, a lion gently licking his mate’s genitals to awaken her, a panther pacing in a cage, the fear that bites your finger and won’t let go when you grab the nape of your cat’s neck from the dog’s fangs. . You, too, became feral once:...Jun 1, 2017 | Desiree Simons, Poetry
Elena’s Eyes When she was seven she was Queen of the Mountains. The village dogs bowed low as they lay wisps of feathers, and warm snake eggs at her dusty feet. Her belly was often empty But Elena’s eyes were full of promise. When she was thirteen a woman came and...Jun 1, 2017 | Poetry, Sharie Kelley
She lost her shoe a convenient shoe. A klutzy sandal not sandals which would catch the eye of a man unless he were the sort of man who had put sex behind him and was drawn to anything that foretold of comfort the kind of guy who was long-winded and as chummy with the...Jun 1, 2017 | Poetry, Terri Miller
In my era abuse was not talked about If sexual abuse, the authorities would ask: What were you wearing? What did you do to seduce him? Blame the victim, no arrest made. As time changes so does the view of sexual abuse. Bitter memories of my brother who at 15 years...