Greta Stoddart

      Once upon a time there was a word that was sick of its meaning the way it was said and said like a wet cloth carelessly slapping a table. What a tearjerker of a word it was. It barely knew what it meant anymore like it had collapsed from...

Colin Pink

      Thread It was gold thread curled tight around a possessive spindle. It was waiting to unspool itself to bind and shape this to that. It had never been in a labyrinth and was not afraid of the dark.     Colin Pink has published two...

Donna Pucciani

      Smoky   Mother chain-smoked, leaving lipsticked butts in plastic ashtrays, where they sent up wisps for hours. Now, wildfires out west blow their dark clouds of sadness eastward to muddy the skies over Lake Michigan that used to be blue. I...