Village Square Logo

Tony Spencer applied the first coat of wax to his prized possession, a 1973 Pontiac Grand Prix. Oh, sure, it had flaws, like a smashed door and a dragging muffler, but the interior was a beaut. It had bright-red bucket seats with a gleaming silver gear mount between them, and flawless upholstery with not even a speck of lint on it. Tony had owned the car for about a year now, and it was just like an old friend.

“Kid!” screamed the old man next door. “I told you to keep that piece of junk away from my house.”

“And I told you, sir, that you don’t own the street and I’ll park where I please.” Why couldn’t that old goat leave them alone? They had five cars – so what? There were five of them and they all needed a car. Mom and Dad’s took up the driveway, and his, Keith’s, and Barb’s were on the street. Luckily Rhonda was married or there would be another one. The garage was so full of junk a bicycle wouldn’t fit, let alone a car. But, a lousy six feet of space was enough to give the old crab a hissy fit.

Tony gave one last flip to the headlight with his cloth, and then gathered his cleaning materials, and added them to the growing mound inside the garage. He had thirty minutes to get cleaned up and get to work at the local Kroger store. He liked his job as a sacker; it kept him in spending money and gas in his car. He was a 17-year-old high school senior who was six feet tall and still growing. His bright red hair was an irritation to him because of the accompanying freckles, and boy did he have them. He figured he could live with them though, as long as the girls didn’t mind. His grades were good, he was on the football team, and he had a car, all the things necessary to attract a girl.

Business had really been slow for a Saturday night, and he only needed to get through another half hour until midnight, and then he could go home and sleep.

“Oh brother, my favorite neighbor,” mumbled Tony as the old man placed a gallon of milk and a package of cigarettes on the counter. Tony placed the items in a bag and held it out to him.

“Carry out,” he spat out. “Ain’t that what you’re here for?”

Tony followed him out to his car and handed him the sack. Snatching it from him without a ‘thank you’ or a backward glance, the old man pulled from his parking space.  Tony could see his own car gleaming in the moonlight. He always parked way down at the end of the lot so grocery carts wouldn’t be smashing into it. He’d seen those carts do a lot of damage to paint jobs. 

Tony was much too far away to hear his car rumble into life, and as he turned to enter the store, he didn’t see his car slowly pull behind the old man, and follow him from the parking lot.

Tony heard the sirens from the rescue squad but didn’t pay much attention. He needed to get to bed so he could get up early and ride the church bus. He could take his car to church, but he was trying to get up enough nerve to ask Cindy out, and the only time he saw her was on the church bus.

He was dreaming of Cindy when his mother shook him awake. “Wake up Tony,” she said. “I have some bad news. Old Mr. McDade died last night. It appears that his car was forced off the road and into a tree in Peterson’s front yard. It caused him to have a fatal heart attack.”

 “A heart attack,” breathed Tony. “I wonder if that’s why he was so crabby last night. I’m glad I held my temper. Do they have any idea who forced him off the road?” 

 “No, it was too dark for the witness to get a good look at the car before it sped off,” said his mother.

The next few weeks were hectic for Tony. His time was divided between work, football and trying to keep his grades up. He was in a neck-and-neck race with his best friend, Troy Roberts, for an athletic/scholastic scholarship. As of now, Troy was ahead by a few percentage points, and in three days time, they had to take the big test to determine the winner. Tony figured Troy would win because outside of football, he really kept his nose to the grindstone. Oh well, if he didn’t win, he couldn’t think of a better person than Troy. They had been friends for years and were almost always in some kind of competition, be it sports or girls.

Tony, Troy, and their friend, Randy Radner, were on their way home from a football meeting where the coach had given them a dressing down over last night’s loss.

“Boy, Drake was really mad, wasn’t he?” said Tony. “If we aren’t careful, we may get our names dropped from the scholarship consideration.”

“Oh, come on Tony,” laughed Troy. “We lost last night’s game, but did you see who scored the most for our team? That’s right, yours truly. You may get dropped my friend, but not me.”

Even though Troy laughed to take the sting out of his words, Tony knew he was serious. Troy had always been a bit conceited, but his good points usually outweighed his conceit.

About three miles from home, Tony’s car started spluttering and then stopped. “Oh good grief!” exclaimed Tony. “What now?”

“Pull the hood lift, Tony, and let an expert check it out,” said Troy as he jumped from the car. He fiddled under the hood for a minute and said, “Try it now Tony.” The engine started on the first attempt. Troy reached under the hood to adjust the linkage when the hood crashed down on his shoulders forcing his face directly into the fan blades. His horrifying scream pierced the night while bone, hair, and blood flew everywhere. The matted tangle of Troy’s body killed the engine; it was all over with by the time Tony and Randy scrambled from the car. Tony tried to raise the hood, his hands sticky with the blood of his friend. The moonlight showed clearly what was left of Troy’s head, and Tony felt himself slipping into blissful oblivion. He knew no more until he woke up in the hospital. They told him he had gone into shock. His mind felt numb. He knew he would never, as long as he lived, forget that blood-curdling death scream.

“Tony,” said the principal. “You can’t refuse this scholarship. It’s too important to your future. I know how you feel, son, but it was a freak accident and not your fault. Call it fate if you like, but I know Troy would have wanted you to accept this and get on with your life.” Tony knew that the principal was right, but oh how it hurt.

The insurance company had paid to have the car engine cleaned or Tony could never have driven it again. He and Keith were on their way to the K-Mart store when Keith said, “Tony, why don’t you get rid of this piece of junk? You have enough money saved to put a down payment on a really good car.”

The brakes squealed as the car came to a grinding halt, throwing Keith forward into the dashboard. “Good gods, Tony! Are you trying to kill me?” 

“Keith, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch the brake. I am not getting rid of my car”. Instantly the car shot forward, expertly maneuvering into traffic with a shocked Tony behind the wheel. He knew that he was not controlling the car. “My God,” he thought. “What can I do? This car hears. Surely not, I must be losing my mind.”

The car pulled into K-Mart and expertly parked. Tony and Keith walked slowly inside. Tony’s head was in turmoil. He’d just forget what had just happened, because people would think he was crazy if he even suggested such a thing. He found the flashlight and batteries that he wanted and was putting three quarts of oil into the shopping cart when he glanced toward the door and noticed that Keith was leaving already. Keith had only come along for the ride anyway and usually picked up a package of licorice. His teeth were often black from the stuff.

Keith walked out toward the car, kicking rocks and trying to open the package of licorice that he had indeed bought. Just as he stepped near the back of Tony’s car, he saw a pickup truck rapidly approaching the parking area. Suddenly, a hard jolt from behind sent him sprawling to the pavement directly in front of the truck. Tony heard the sickening crunch of Keith’s bones as the truck rolled over his leg. “I don’t know what happened,” moaned Keith. “I thought I had been hit from the back, but our own car was parked behind me. I must have tripped.”

Tony followed the ambulance to the hospital to be with his brother. He was sweating profusely and was scared to death. He knew what had happened. His car- his friend- had hurt his brother, killed his best friend, and maybe even killed his neighbor. What was he going to do? He didn’t know the source of this car’s intelligence; he only knew that it was.

After notifying his parents of the accident and seeing that Keith was being taken care of, Tony left the hospital to test his theory about his car. He wondered if it could also read his mind. He knew he had to do something. He forced his thoughts to remain calm as he drove along the highway. He prayed to God for guidance as he began to think negative thoughts about the car.

“I wonder if Keith was right?” he thought. “Maybe I should get rid of this car.” The car slowed perceptibly. “No,” he thought. “I’ll keep it. It has been a good little car.”   The car picked up speed and cruised smoothly down the road. Suddenly Tony screamed, “You piece of junk! I hate you, do you hear?” The car swerved sharply moving all over the road, and the front tire was flapping crazily. It halted abruptly along the shoulder. Tony knew the tire was blown, but was that all? Perspiration beaded his forehead and upper lip as he forced himself to get out and open the trunk to get the jack and spare tire. He stood beside the car listening. Nothing! Was he losing his mind? He’d been through a lot lately and maybe his imagination was just playing tricks on him. He knew one thing for sure, he was going to seek out the counseling that had been offered after Troy’s death and get himself straightened up.

Tony rolled the spare tire to the front of the car and squatted down. He started to loosen the hubcap when he felt, rather than saw, the car moving backward. He looked up as if in a trance, as it revved up and came hurtling toward him. He felt the impact, felt himself flying through the air, and then total blackness as he came in contact with the hard pavement.

“Looks like he was about to change a tire,” said the state trooper. “Hit and run, I’d say. Shame too, and he’ll be lucky if he makes it to the hospital.” As the siren from the ambulance faded into the distance, the trooper pressed the button on his intercom. “Whose turn is it for the tow job? Get them down here on Highway 29 and tell them to put the spare tire on.”

Tony lay in a coma for three long weeks, hovering between life and death. His father was standing beside his hospital bed when his eyes finally opened. Remembrance dawned. His first words were, “Dad, my car?”

“I’m sorry son,” said his father. “We sold the car because the doctor said it would be a long time before you would be able to drive again. We put the money in the bank for you and we’ll help you get another when the time comes."

“It’s okay,” sighed Tony as he drifted down, down into a deep and natural sleep. Tony’s father’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears. God had answered his prayers and spared the life of his son.

Kevin Coleman applied the final coat of wax to his prized possession, a 1973 Pontiac Grand Prix. He’d only had it a few weeks, but already it was like an old friend.

Bio: Leona Pence is a lifelong resident of Illinois. She has published one book, Hemphill Towers, and stories in five murder anthologies. She mentored a creative writing course called F2K (Fiction for 2000) for six years, and is a lifetime member of Writers' Village University. Her hobbies include reading, writing, and having fun with her great-grandkids.

Leona has four children, twelve grandchildren, and fifteen great-grandchildren.


The Impostor

by

Mick Clark

I was amazed by how many people were stuffed inside my uncle Henry’s corpse.

My aunt clung to me for the first time in her life, bird-bone brittle and ashen pale, while the mourners breathed crowds of ghosts into the icy morning air.

The coffin swayed...

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21 Days of Lockdown

by

Donna Abraham Tijo

Day 1:
When Coronavirus Comes Calling
A five-year-old declares, 'I wish to always have my favourite pancake in my world.'

Day 2:
An E-mail of Hope
He sent the e-mail to the school reserving seats for his daughter for the fall session. It’s in the new city they...

Read more: 21 Days of Lockdown

 

 

 

Sugar Daddy Dreams

by

Enza Vynn-Cara

Burnt toast, avocado, honey, two poached eggs laced with turmeric and garlic, and a new vitamin concoction that makes my stomach churn, and still, I guzzle half of it down with gusto, as if it’s our first Godfather Cocktail at Carlo’s Bar.

Why, you ask?

Because...

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The Visitor

by

Brigitte Whiting

Madeleine saw the visitor in her Sunday school class, a man her age, maybe fortyish —she considered herself a youthful fifty —with a deep dimple in the middle of his chin. He wore no wedding ring. He introduced himself as having just moved to Cannington, and was the...

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Chickens

by

Brigitte Whiting

First, there was dust everywhere, but now, far worse, there were chickens everywhere. They were pecking through the yard, leaving puffs of dust. They were roosting in the pine trees. And they clucked from morning to night. The five roosters vied for which was loudest and shrillest. Amanda...

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Desiree

by

Joe Cappello

I buried him in the backyard one night after a rainstorm. The soil I removed from the hole was thick and sticky and clung stubbornly to the surface of my shovel.

I connected the hose to the backyard spigot and used it to clean off the shovel. Then...

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The Anointing of Mary Ballard

by

Joe Cappello

The young lady entered the laboratory with her eyes cast down reverently, as though entering a church. When she reached the gurney, she pulled a chair close to it and placed the things she was carrying on a nearby table. She removed the sheet covering the body and...

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Beginning at the End

by

Joe Cappello

I am in a meeting at our England location in a typical rectangular conference room walled off from the real world of work taking place outside. Suddenly, I am a spirit floating above my colleagues, as though I had died only seconds earlier and am waiting to be...

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Hope Held My Heart

by

Chel Talleyrand

We were isolated that summer from the rest of the world. The excessive rains had pounded the fields into mosquito-infested pools, destroying our harvests of corn and beans. We heard it was worse in the cities. As food supplies depleted, guns decided distribution. Friends and families banded together...

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My Carousal of Life

by

Chel Talleyrand

As a little girl, I had this recurring dream that would cause me to wake up in a cold sweat. A grand celebration was going on in a great hall, where my mother and father sat on gold thrones at the end of the room overseeing their subjects...

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The Tattoo

by

Donna Abraham Tijo

Red Bull is engraving the Eye of God on your chest. “It’s a private tattoo over my soul and conscience,” you murmur. “I’m an atheist, bro,” you continue, thinking of the Chotta Bheem rakhi on your wrist eons back in time. I will be brave like Bheem someday, ...

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Booklovers’ Paradise

by

Donna Abraham Tijo


‘I am a writer, but I wish I could write like that,’ said Durga, seated at the head of the rustic green, rectangular table. There were nineteen women on the sides, who turned to look. Then, some picked up their beverages and sipped them. In the background, a...

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My Car, My Friend

by

Leona Pence

Tony Spencer applied the first coat of wax to his prized possession, a 1973 Pontiac Grand Prix. Oh, sure, it had flaws, like a smashed door and a dragging muffler, but the interior was a beaut. It had bright-red bucket seats with a gleaming silver gear mount between...

Read more: My Car, My Friend

 

 

 

Brother Bastion

by

Linda Murray

The rain that had pelted the high mountain jungle all morning stopped abruptly, and the sun gradually dissolved the lingering clouds. Insects hummed again, birds burst forth in joyous song and flowers lifted their dripping heads, spreading their petals wide to receive the sun’s bright blessing. The People, ...

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Standard Police Report

by

Frank Richards

Standard Police Report - Inventory of Possessions - Portbou, Catalonia, Republic of Spain

27 Sep. 1940

Location: Hotel De Francia


Noted contents of subject’s hotel room as follows:


- a large steamer trunk containing books in various foreign languages, for example, Les Fleurs du mal, ...

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Starburst

by

Brigitte Whiting

We sat, you and I, alongside the lake, watching the sky spread above us in an immense starburst, the Milky Way threaded through its center, seeming to beckon us to follow it.

"A reverse inkblot," you said.

I thought, no, no, nothing as mundane as that, but all...

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There Are No More Pets in My House

by

Enza Vynn-Cara

 

There is death in my house.

“It's gone to a better place,” she says. "Now flush it down the toilet and wash your hands. Breakfast is ready."

Like that, she cans Juju, our goldfish. She did the same with Didi, Ma’s parrot, ...

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Revenge of the Fishy

by

Leona Pence & Tom Whitehead

 

 

 

Tom Whitehead: (In the deep husky Marlboro movie guys voice) HEEEEEEEEEEEER FISHY, FISHY, FISHY!

It was an early Saturday morning. He thought it was just another day of fishing, then all of a sudden out of nowhere he...

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Temp-Tation

by

Leona Pence

 

 

David Porter watched his wife and two sons as they played on the monkey bars at the park. He smiled in contentment as peals of laughter rang out. Two short weeks ago, he’d been in danger of losing his family.

...

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Free Range Souls

by

Enza Vynn-Cara

Samael and Malachi, two brothers working for different bosses, sit on the fence dangling their booted feet each on their side of the divide. One pair of boots is caked in white droppings; the other scrubbed clean. It’s like a dare. Trespassing? Not quite. ...

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Einaudi

by

Luann Lewis



An elderly woman shuffled up the sidewalk and took a seat on the bench across the way from me. I watched her slow steps and noticed her feet stuck in matted slippers and her swollen discolored ankles. Breathing a sigh of relief, I felt grateful...

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Campfire

by

Brigitte Whiting


We sat around a campfire in the backyard that evening, our parents and us four kids, aged four to fifteen. Dan, the oldest at nineteen, was in the Army serving somewhere that Mother didn't want to tell us. "You don't need to worry," she said. "I'll...

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Jack and the Beanstalk

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

The global wealth distribution has been heavily off balance, the scales of capitalism have plunged so far into disproportion they will fall before they will be fair again.  Jack and his widowed mother have economically crammed a century of mourning into an egregious year but failed...

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Lost and Found

by

Brigitte Whiting

Smelled: a gamey odor downstairs in the basement. Searched for its source but couldn’t find it.

Found: one dead mouse with reddish-brown legs and a white underbelly in the basement bathroom. A deer mouse. Picked it up with tongs, took it outdoors, and tossed...

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One Hundred Yards

by

McCord Chapman

 

 

A deep sigh came just as Jason was pulling off the highway onto Route 11. He was close and could feel his back tingling as if his whole spine had suddenly fallen asleep. This happened every time he headed into a small town, no...

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Cocoa and Biscuits

by

Penny Camp

Saturday mornings were special occasions at our house when we were growing up. My friends begged to spend the night so they could be part of the Saturday morning ritual.

Mom would take out her green plastic bowl and splash in a little water, a little cocoa powder, ...

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Livin’ the Dream

by

Holly Miller

When I was a child, my mom and Aunt Leona would pack us six kids into our blue Chevy Belair and drive to a local mobile home dealer (they were known as trailers back then). We would walk through the new homes, just for something to do. How...

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Fall in Maine

by

Brigitte Whiting

Autumn is falling in Maine, harder this year than I remember over the last few falls. We've had two nights of close to freezing temperatures, not enough to ice over the birdfeeders or kill any of my plants yet, but cold enough to turn the furnace on. My...

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Best Laid Plans

by

Penny Devlin

Every year shortly before spring, the Gurney’s Seed & Nursery Co. catalog shows up on my doorstep. The cover is plastered with a WARNING label in big black letters informing me that if I don’t order now, this will be my last catalog. It also has coupons: $100...

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One January Morning

by

Brigitte Whiting

Mornings, I like to have a Kindle eBook open on the dining room table so I can read and look out into the backyard to see what might be happening. 

I live in a raised ranch with an attached two-car garage. My deck, which is off the kitchen...

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The Ruins and the Writing Technique of Negative Space

by

Sarah Yasin

A book club I’m part of recently discussed The Ruinsby Scott Smith. It’s not a book I would have finished reading based on the first 50 pages, but sticking with it afforded me insight into what a narrative voice can do. The story is about a group...

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A River of Words

by

Penny Devlin

Go to work every day. Do your job. Do it well. Always learning, getting better every day. Soaking in the letters that become words, that lead to success.

Meetings, instructions, to-do lists, directions — the words start to drown like a river of brown muddy water rushing through...

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Canada, Marty, and The Exorcist

by

Jen Lowry

On our homeschool adventure today, we dreamed aloud of the places we would travel to if we could. My kids and I agree: Ireland and Scotland are our top two places to visit. We played music from Spotify and sang aloud to the merry tunes of the Irish.

...

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Monarch Butterflies

by

Brigitte Whiting

I had no idea what milkweed looked like because I'd never seen it, but I'd always wanted it to grow in my yard so I could see the monarch butterflies.


For the longest time, I've hoped the patch of wonderfully fragrant plants with pale purple flowers growing...

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A Monarch Chrysalis

by

Brigitte Whiting

The monarch caterpillar couldn't decide where to turn itself into a chrysalis. He wandered across my front stoop so many times I was afraid I'd step on it so I stopped using the front door. One time, he'd be crawling up a post of the front railing. Another...

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Truth

by

Angela Hess

I am twisted, bent, and deformed on every side. Everyone trying to use me to serve their own purposes, to justify their own beliefs and actions. Their eyes constantly sliding away from my pure, unaltered form, too brilliant and painful to behold without their chosen filters to dim...

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The Goldfinch

by

Brigitte Whiting

On a Monday afternoon, I carried a bucket of water outdoors to refill the birdbath. A male goldfinch jumped down from the bath’s rim, and hopped away as quickly as he could to creep beneath a nearby spruce branch. I thought how odd he was...

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Of Heroes and Holiness

by

Angela Hess

What does a hero look like?

 

George Bailey is a hero.

 

George Bailey dreamed of traveling the world.

 

George Bailey gave up his dreams to care for his family and community.

 

Rudy left his family...

Read more: Of Heroes and Holiness

 

 

 

My Desk

by

Luann Lewis

Another rejection letter and I feel like a loser. Yeah, I know, I’m not trying to make a living doing this. I even claim to be “writing for myself.” Butwe all want validation and, let’s face it, us writers want readers. So here I sit, ...

Read more: My Desk

 

 

 

My Mobile Space

by

Janet Harvey

 

In June, I will expect to find my special place in Townsville, Queensland. Last year it was in Darwin, Northern Territory, and today my place is in Hobart, Tasmania.

 

 

We live in a truck, a 2004 Isuzu 350NPR turbo automatic...

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A Red Squirrel's Narrative

by

Brigitte Whiting

This past summer and fall upturned me. The birdfeeder, usually so generous, abdicated her job, and I had to scrounge for food during the long wet season. My mother told me it was unusual to have such a rainy August and October. She would know. I was born...

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Talk-Back, Dear Lia, on FnF

by

Joy Manné

This essay is part of a Talk-Back series – I owe that title to Karen. A Talk-Back is my response to a chapter in a WVU textbook, my communication with its author.

This Talk-Back is a response to the exercise in Lia Purpura’s chapter, ‘On Miniatures,’ (Flas...

Read more: Talk-Back, Dear Lia, on FnF

 

 

 

Reunion

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

“Why the F--- Do I want to see a F—ing alligator jump up to eat a F—ing chicken hanging on a clothesline?”

 

The last time I hung out with my Uncle Dan is when I dragged him to Gatorland to do something touristic. ...

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A Fear of Broken Things

by

Angela Hess

“Does he look at you?”

 

My cousin’s innocent question triggers a flashing red warning light in my brain. My baby doesn’t look at me. I assumed he was too young still, but my cousin’s baby is only four days older than mine, and they are...

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Wild Roses Growing in the Ditch

by

Louise E. Sawyer


It is a joy to hold a lovely scene, a delightful moment, in memory.
~Marjolein Bastin

Frank was four and I was five and getting ready to start school when Dad and Mom moved us into a new house on Glasgow Avenue—a three-bedroom home that wasn't quite finished—in...

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Hazardous Happenings

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

At some point, everything comes to an apex.  Status quo can only persist for so long before the natural balance of the universe calls for consumption, and then it all comes down to a choice.  That’s it, a lone decision that ultimately leads down a pathway to a higher level...

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Dealing with Rejection

by

Carolann Malley


Sending your writing out into the world can be scary whether you write poetry, fiction, or nonfiction. But, at some point, if you are a serious writer, you will do it. Getting a rejection letter back can be more devastating than asking a girl out as a teenager and...

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Backyard Neighbors

by

Brigitte Whiting


I took an hour to walk outdoors in my yard, first to clip dead honeysuckle branches, pluck dandelions, and then to fill the birdbaths and feeders. And to ponder what to write about one of my backyard neighbors, the gray squirrel, Sciurus Carolineses. Its name is derived from the...

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Betrayal

by

Angela Hess


My four-year-old son has a friend over. I overhear my son’s friend tell my two-year-old daughter, “Gracie, you can’t come in here.” Then my son’s voice: “It’s okay, she can play with us. Here, Gracie,” he says, presumably handing her one of the toys they are playing with. My mama...

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The Weight of Emotions

by

Angela Hess

  I can hear my parents’ raised voices upstairs. They are fighting again. I turn on the sink faucet, letting the sound of the running water drown out their voices. I thrust my hands in the nearly scalding hot water and methodically scrub each dish in the sink...

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With Emily on the Death Carriage

by

Nitin Mishra

After a hard day of labor
As I was hurrying my way back home.
A black Carriage stopped...

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2020 Time of Haiku

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

DNA's protein coat-
Stripped me of maskless days, now
I eat popcorn alone


Are you kidding me!
No...

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The Nature of Time

by

Sitharaam Jayakumar

Time flows from infinity to infinity,
with no beginning or end in sight,
unlike men and women who...

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Some Heart-felt Emotions about My Motherland

by

Sitharaam Jayakumar

Oh! My motherland, my heart and soul,
as I watch dark clouds hover in your skies,
my eyes...

Read more: Some Heart-felt Emotions about My Motherland

 

 

 

A Dream, A Fantasy, Flying into The Unknown

by

Sitharaam Jayakumar

I am once again a youth in my teens,
dreaming of flying high up into the clouds.
I...

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Missing Miss Pickle

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

I miss the way
you sat on your stool
by the kitchen window,
meowing goodbye when I left,
...

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Surprised by Joy

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

I stare outside my window
as snowflakes swirl,
cover my garden
with another white blanket

my Vancouver Island...

Read more: Surprised by Joy

 

 

 

Definition of a Poem

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

A poem is a spark sprung to life.
A poem is a magic inspiration.
A poem is a...

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Lessons from History

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

reading about the 1918 Spanish flu
shows mistakes made by history:
parades, train trips, troopships,
overcrowded hospitals
pandemics...

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I Go Picking Seashells

by

Sitharaam Jayakumar

I look at the deep blue sea,
stretching endlessly before me,
as I sit on the sands, alone, ...

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Moments of Silence

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

sometimes social isolation  
is a requirement
to write a poem
 
in times of self-quarantine,
loneliness hovers...

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The Lockdown Cyber Trip

by

Louise E. Sawyer

I.  New York City

Around the world, we few gals hunkered down
around our computers, tablets, and phones,
...

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On the Farm

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

Greene’s’ farmhouse
took on smells of hay and silage
cow and sheep scents brought in
on men’s overalls and
...

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The Estate

by

KG Newman

One day after I die I’ll have a shiny dedication plate nailed to a bench
along a trail...

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Thankful

by

Samantha Vincent

I can taste you in my coffee,
So I no longer drink it black.
I can feel your...

Read more: Thankful

 

 

 

Our Neighbourhood Playground

by

Louise E. Sawyer

We neighbourhood children gravitate
in the late afternoon to the large empty lot
at the corner of Scotia...

Read more: Our Neighbourhood Playground

 

 

 

Immediate Action Required

by

KG Newman

It’s 100 seconds to midnight
with nuclear arms re-normalized and
climate change addressed by fine speeches,
while on...

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About It

by

KG Newman

For years I tried to remember the moment
as less heartbreaking, somehow —
the day a dad realizes...

Read more: About It

 

 

 

American Refugees

by

KG Newman

At the foreign arboretum
we zigzag among species
which may or may not
be poisonous to our love
...

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Monday/Wednesday/Friday And Every Other Weekend

by

KG Newman

Half the week you live a very full life. The other half you pretend not to care, swallow...

Read more: Monday/Wednesday/Friday And Every Other Weekend

 

 

 

Sadness

by

Michael Scanlon

Oh, what I'd give for a peaceful soul;
my mind at rest I'd want no more,
content amid...

Read more: Sadness

 

 

 

First Impressions – Walter

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

today I meet Walter
for the first time

I know my brother-in-law
only through pictures,
from his mother’s...

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Abandoned House

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

lichen covered, grey
boards, paint free,
the old house sits
surrounded by poplar trees,
and overgrown grass

doors, ...

Read more: Abandoned House

 

 

 

Good Intentions

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

I sat down to do my work today,
but a visitor came calling
and distracted me

I meant...

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How to Define a Cat

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

(with input from Farley, Yanni, Glory and Blake)

A cat is a stylist who licks your locks.
A cat is...

Read more: How to Define a Cat

 

 

 

I Am Old Now

by

Chel Talleyrand

I am old now.
I drag myself to greet my day now filled with the fog of medicines...

Read more: I Am Old Now

 

 

 

The Wind Excites Me

by

Chel Talleyrand

The wind excites me.
It speaks of adventures
I dare not journey.

It visits me
to speak to...

Read more: The Wind Excites Me

 

 

 

listen to the wind words

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

we learned to lie
in the garden
behind the mask
discarded innocence
aware now of space between

bride...

Read more: listen to the wind words

 

 

 

Commandment VIII Hiawatha/Geronimo/Sitting Bull

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

I will be the people’s tears

I cry for justice
freedom
respect denied

I cry for lies
told...

Read more: Commandment VIII Hiawatha/Geronimo/Sitting Bull

 

 

 

Submontane Home

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

I followed the familiar trail
through maple and pine
along old logging ruts
crossing Plank Road at the...

Read more: Submontane Home

 

 

 

Awake

by

Maryann (Max) Maxson

the day I under

stood

the birds echoing chirps to the squirrels
chittering to the trees and to...

Read more: Awake

 

 

 

Think

by

Gerardine Gail Baugh

You cannot take someone else's land,
because you stripped and overpopulated your own.

You cannot spew poison in...

Read more: Think

 

 

 

Reflections

by

Paula Parker

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Jack

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

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Hollister

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Evelyn

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

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Curiosity

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Rebecca

by

Gerardine Gail Esterday

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Hazel

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Working Hands

by

Paula Parker

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Maya

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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The Birds in the Flower

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Pst... Hey

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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The World in Her Hands

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Oak

by

Craig Gettman

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Flower

by

Craig Gettman

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Berries

by

Craig Gettman

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Winding Road

by

Craig Gettman

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Sunset - April 2020

by

Craig Gettman

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Portrait of Her

by

Vincenzina Caratozzolo

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Beach at Dusk

by

Vincenzina Caratozzolo

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Lonesome Horses

by

Vincenzina Caratozzolo

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Get Out the Penitentiary

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Tulips or Three?

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Rock and Roll

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Garden of Hearts

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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Evil Eye-pad

by

Alberto Rodriguez Orejuela

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