Memory GameBy Christina Rosso  Two women sat at a high top table in the corner of a hotel bar. The hotel itself was decent, affordable, not run down, yet not the kind of place people wanted to stay or spend any more time in than they had to. These two women had come to the bar alone, one to get away, to lose a piece of herself, the other to gain one. Each had a short fat glass in front of her filled with a brown liquid. Bourbon. One glass was sweating, the ice inside melting into shapeless blobs. The other drink was poured neat. One of the women had hair the color of fire, tones of red, copper, and gold painted onto the thin strands of her long mane. When she leaned in to touch the other woman’s arm, the curled, golden ends lapped at her date’s tan flesh. This woman had curly, nearly black hair with a purplish sheen. She seemed comfortable with the redhead, even though they’d been complete strangers an hour before.
I Am Just Like ThemBy Emanuel Magno  He affirms his soul by negating his body. But is not his soul his life, that which animates the body, so is not the body already dead? He merely travels.
He travels swiftly, his feet almost stomping the air against the earthy pull of the soaking ground, but his wingless feet are sore, each step he takes he soars a little lower. Afraid of falling, he goes slow and slower, not altogether there to fear last-week’s crime rates, usually reported around these parts of town. The raggedy shoes scrape the floor off in cantabile kicks, singing in chaotic unison: are we alone? Question cut by the timid barks of an invisible dog that ever so slowly also reveals their presence from the shadows coming by the sloping-street below. No "Off" For StarsBy Keith Moul  So often on the prairie breezes tantrum as cyclones,
a brief, but uncertain show, buzzing down into dust. Today I stop work and see them in one of many other moods: mutually folding into grasses, so bewitching with undulations, ripe plumpness, hints of innuendo. Fat Girl PinkBy Ghia Vitale  Some people say fat girls shouldn’t wear pink
because the color is "unflattering" and draws too much attention to something society doesn’t want to see: a person with a fat body who's daring to take up space and exist in public without apology. Pure GoldBy Lynn White Editor's Note: This piece was previously published in Literary Yard.  We were the pure gold people.
The golden generation of bouncing baby boomers who had it all, the best music, the most fun and the security and optimism of a golden future. |