Alice, noun; 1. There was a sparrow clasped on the hem of her gray shirt; flecks of orange in a brown braid trailing down; deep eyes; brown, and not at all cursory;around the lengths of the grace and proportion was com•plex•ion, curvature and collarbone; 2. hiding between ribs, an idea; a neck:
What makes us Different – Lady in White? What makes us Broken – Clocks Looping in a Broken – Record A Scratch of Chalk? Our Chalkboard was – a Sidewalk Your – Clock Is my Permission Slip – To Slip into my own – Pool Your Broken – Poetry –
Smoldering Dreams — a golden shovel poem after Robert Frost, author of Bond and Free Please, don’t cast your love on me, I fear I’ll splinter. Why has the wide-open country withered to earth and bone. To circling walls. To snow — smothering that which ventures out. A dream she
By Julia Voyt Pages and pages of 12 size Times New Roman are bled across the paper feverishly, introductions and statistics under methods and conclusions. Not eating food and my bicep is smaller this week I talk faster to my family and I write, write, write. The earth outside smells different and sw
By Lindsay Jankowski Cookbook for life Imagine life came with a cookbook, chock full of suggestions and answers to all of life’s problems. Unsure how to approach your mom about changing your career? Consult page 552 on “mother-daughter conflict” for a step-by-step list. Think you’re going
By Gabrielle Crone Only a hillbilly would bring their injured dog to the vet using twine as a leash. At least that’s what our vet, Westley, announced when he saw my grandpa, Charles Bailey, in the lobby of the clinic twine leash in hand. Gizmo had injured his paw, most [&helli
