By Rachel E. Layton I was raised by a witch doctor. She taught me voodoo, and how to track down a killer by listening to his victim’s maggots. She took me to visit convents of shamans; They’d let me dig bones from owl pellets. I found a...
By Ashley Gonzalez Butterfly Hearts, Sisters of Fits and Starts, lend me your wings, those feathery things that make even shakiest voices sing. King of Brothers, lend me your crystal cutters, shining prisms of Light over lover’s skin. No sin in...
By Elaine Verdill Not quite Pompeii or Vesuvius erupting but the smoke pours across the valley with the same dense intensity, all green to gray and the sunlight disappears It’s not Mt. St. Helens again, no ash on the ground, but motes in the...
By Jenn Powers he cleans his fingernails with a knife & cooks bone soup fresh kill from the forest blood flecks mud-caked construction boots late afternoon light purple now cools the surface of work benches ...
By Anne Fox Like Simone de Beauvoir, I have compared housework to the torture of Sisyphus. Yet once in a while, when an afternoon turns golden, I remember the outcome of an irresistible impulse. Despite my many years of kinship with a clothes dryer, long...