everyday art culture & Magic
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By Amy Lee  “subway station
i wish to go nowhere” Poetry can sometimes become too cumbersome and preoccupied with forms and rules that it feels heavy and contrived. Yet the elegance of simplicity and the quiet power of ‘less is more’ is alive in Neha R. Krishna’s first volume of modern Haiku, no urgency to be home.
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Book Review & Free Link to E-book.pdf: 'Love in the Time of Corona' - By Tharani Balachandran9/25/2023 By Amy Lee  “…and now all I miss is the touch of my mother’s hand my friends who are out saving the world and the lovers I just couldn’t hold onto.” - Love in the Time of Corona I have often been fascinated by the intensity and originality of writings produced during isolation and loneliness by the likes of the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen. Tharani Balachandran’s debut poetry chapbook, Love in the Time of Corona, charters upon a similar story-telling with ‘Bridget-Jones’-esque wit, sharp political commentary and vivid imageries about a modern feminist’s life, love and the unfair pressures of ‘having it all’. The narratives are so bouncy and rich that the reader will feel like s/he just enjoyed a cup of coffee with an old friend. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Steph Whitehouse  There is a box that sits in my wardrobe. It’s been there a long time and has travelled many places with me. This box contains many treasures that have been collected over a lifetime. My mother started the original box for me when I was born. She filled it with special items from my childhood. Things she thought I would like to see when I was older and recall special memories. I have been through this box many times and cleaned it out a few times. Some things have been thrown out and others have stayed. Some things have stayed for their memories, others for the people who gave them to me and others because they are cherished childhood items.
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By David Sparenberg  "Tell me the landscape in which you live and I will tell you who you are". - Jose Ortega y Gasset, Spanish Philosopher I am a human member. My home is of intimate space. I live between Earth and Sky. I am between land and water.
The ocean-world that cannot be crossed in a single day, a single night, or even in a single lifetime, starts and ends at my bare feet. Unbroken rhythm washing the singing sand surges between my toes, bubbling beneath where I stand, under my soles. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
 Legs. They’re what I notice most often about other women, aside from face and hair and outfit and all the other things we love to judge.
Lest you think I have ulterior motives, I’m not trawling for a conquest or stalkee. I’m a straight, cis, aging Gen X-er with a tidily manicured set of body image issues. A 5’9” size 16 sort of woman: bigger than some, smaller than others, and utterly average by American standards of measurement. I’m just kind of hung up on legs. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Steph Whitehouse  Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence This is a topic is often shrouded in secrecy that I almost hesitate to write of it. Yet my hesitation only adds to the secrecy when in fact, it needs to brought out into the open. It must be done so that others do not feel so isolated and know they are not alone. By sharing our stories and knowledge we can feel united and end the shame and secrecy around domestic violence. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Sarah Harley  "A light here required a shadow there". – Virginia Woolf Along with threads of cotton, lengths of garden jute twine, my mother’s brown hair that fell out in soft, abandoned clumps after the radiation and chemotherapy treatment – the paper dolls were cut with the blunt edge of the tarnished silver scissors. The scissors lived in the darkness of the kitchen drawer, the one above the pitch black cupboard where my mother hid the alcohol.
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By Amy Lee  “The past does not trust us yet, but I do. I do" The path from girlhood to womanhood can be fraught with complexity, fragility and even spiritually incomplete without a full reflection and reckoning. Anastasia DiFonzo’s A Certain Serenity fearlessly revisits and navigates through the journey from girlhood to womanhood with poetry that is ravishingly raw and rare.
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By Marie-Eve Bernier  She would playfully ask the same two questions.
“Do you prefer to sit on a rocking chair or a stable armchair?” and “Do you prefer sweet or salty treats?”. This was her failproof ‘scientific’ test to figure which genes her grandchildren had inherited. My grandmother’s maiden name is Fillion, which meant she liked to sit on stable chairs and preferred salted snacks, while my grandfather’s surname is Cloutier, otherwise known for enjoying rocking chairs and having a sweet tooth. She would take great amusement if one of her grandchildren showed traits of both genes, such as if one liked salted chips but also enjoyed a rocking chair. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Maria Newsom  As executor of my late great Uncle Harry’s estate, my mother inherited a box of short stories. Miraculously, this collection of hand-typed, double-spaced sheets of medium-weight paper survived four cellar floods in my parents’ Brooklyn home. Each time the waters abated, mom was relieved to find the box dry. Still, it never came upstairs. Eventually, my parents moved upstate, and the box moved to a new basement. It still hadn’t come above ground when I visited them last summer and found it downstairs, wedged between rolls of Santa Claus paper and a dust-shrouded set of Encyclopedia Britannica.
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May 2023
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