My new friend, at end
of summer camp,
told me she would miss me
oh so much
and could I please
come visit her, but not
if I was
her mother hated
I was ten. I held the knowledge
of such hatred
like a stone
beneath my tongue.
Jennifer L. Freed lives in Massachusetts, where she raises her children, writes poetry, tutors (writing and ESL), and likes to play with clay, which she disguises as ceramic sculpture. She has taught ESL in China, the Czech Republic, and the U.S. She has recently published a chapbook, These Hands Still Holding (Finishing Line Press, 2014). You can read more of her poems at her website, jfreed.weebly.com.
A male Jew and a female Muslim, both in their early twenties, were standing in a battle field holding guns against each other’s heads.
The Jew said, “If there were no religion, we might be dancing happily with each other right now.”
The Muslim replied, “In your club, or mine?”
Saeed Rezaee, from Iran, holds a B.A. in English Translation and shares his creative writing at teanglish.com.
Bradley loved Veronica, and he hated it. He hated his attraction to her arrogance. Mostly, though, he hated that she hated him.
Veronica hated lots of boys: she valued her spitefulness; but she especially hated Bradley.
They circled each other in ever-decreasing orbits, their gravitational forces growing, like doomed planets.
This story is based on a title suggested by Jonas Funk.