The first blossom
On my winter squash
Lacking a male,
She will fade,
And her fruit will fail.
Still, she opens in beauty
Under the sun
And offers her grace
To the day.
So too may we all;
And that is quite enough.
Casey Laine comes from a long line of talkative women. She works as Fantasy Editor at Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and publishes an annual anthology of fiction and poetry for her writing group, Writers Assembled. In her spare time, she chases butterflies with her camera. Find her at Facebook, Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and Amazon.
I escaped his slithering hands and bolted into the night. Johnny’s malty breath followed me before giving up with a cuss; he was always skittish about the marshes.
Crouching among the reeds, a frog startled me. I clasped him in my fingers, took a breath, and kissed him.
Nicholas Katsanis lives in Chicago and writes magical realism and absurdist fiction. He is currently editing his debut novel. Follow him on Twitter at @NicholasKatsan1.
For some, it’s a glistening gray hair mistook for lint. For others, wrinkles that once appeared only when laughing now remain. For me, it’s my body lagging weeks behind my mind.
Grandma said I too would age, and should sip it like a chilled glass of her freshly squeezed lemonade.
Vernae is new to the world of publishing, but is enjoying every moment of it. She began submitting her work for publication in 2018 and has been published several times. Her unpublished Children’s Book “Teddy Wet My Bed” was selected as one of five Finalists by Eyelands 2019 Book Awards in the Unpublished Books Category. Vernae is praying for overall health and wellbeing for our country and the world during this health crisis.
Joe strips his first-date clothes.
Mouth open, he pulls down his tongue, unzips his skin suit, head to crotch.
He reaches inside and pulls out his heart. The heart looks like china—shattered, then glued back together. More than once.
Joe sheds the skin. A young man emerges, heart intact.
Maura gets paid to be a nerd and writes short fiction so she’ll be less of a pain in the neck to those around her. Read her publications at maurayzmore.com or come say ‘hi’ on Twitter.
“Growing up I always had a bunk bed,” Frank said aloud. “Come to think of it, we had bunks at summer camp, too. Just the sight of them brings me back to happier times.” A big nostalgic grin bloomed across Fred’s face.
“All right, convicts. Lights out!” shouted the guard.
Craig writes in his free time for free. He’d listen to offers to change this.