I’ll walk with James to Central Park
in the middle of the night
and let him run off leash while
I climb every tree, even the red oaks
that stretch into the stars
until morning brings us to our senses,
squirrels emerge from their burrows
and all the stars disappear.
Stephanie Jones works as a features writer for DownBeat magazine and Hot House Jazz Guide. When time permits, she hosts a podcast called “After the Call.” Jones graduated from Wellesley College having studied with Frank Bidart and Alicia Erian, and earned her BFA in Jazz Performance from The City College of New York. See more at linkedin.com/in/meetmissjonesny.
Our eyes met through the glass, a chance that may never come again.
For one short moment we connected. Then just as quickly, she was gone—a graceful, young fawn.
I look for her on clear nights and wonder if she looks for me while eating apples under my tree.
Candace Kubinec posts her stories at storydribbles.wordpress.com and her poetry at rhymeswithbug.com.
A fetal ball on freshly-turned loam, her tears seep into the soil. Amanda’s arms cradle her knees tight to her body.
Above: a mother – weeping, grieving, dying.
Below: another – reaching, loving, living.
Green shoots cover her fragile form. Mother is bonded with daughter.
She’ll sleep on the hillside soon enough.
Kevin G. Bufton has been writing flash fiction for nearly eight years and still hasn’t got it out of his system. He lives in Birkenhead with his wife and kids, who seem to tolerate him. He writes his darkest stories wearing his brightest shirts, and believes the world could do with more rum.