“Kōri ga tokete iru.”
Rina, migrating Israeli magpie that she was, picked up something shiny from each landfall. A phrase from Japan, her favorite drink from California. But now this Reykjavik cafe in the midnight sun was home. Only this small land left above water.
“The ice cubes are melting.”
Tom Harris is an engineer and teacher inspired by daily life. When words fill up his head, he shakes them out on virtual paper.
Stars and music.
As a child, I secretly danced with the night.
Quick mind, innocence and passion, gone.
At the end, I have my grandmother’s hands,
and mother’s scowl.
The vortex opens to pull me from the world
where I lost my spirit. Disappointing many,
especially myself.
I remember now.
She needed a safe place, so she shapeshifted into a mouse. She crawled beneath the blankets, chewed through the mattress, found a hole under the bed and slipped beneath the floorboards. There she fell fast asleep in the space between reality and imagination, her parents’ fighting muted, distant, and small.
A one-time teen mother and high school dropout, Larina Warnock holds a doctorate from Creighton University and teaches high school in rural Oregon where she lives with her husband, foster children, and a small zoo.
After a typical week of lunches and conversation-fueled walks with friends (all initiated by her), the pleasant surprise of a restaurant candy in her coat pocket.
This was what she was to them. Never invited, but not unwelcome.
A familiar sweetness,
mild burst of energy,
then forgotten,
until next time.
Lisa Sutcliffe lives and writes in Oakville, Ontario.
Darla slams the front door. Home. Finally. She greets the cat and the plant, tickles them where she thinks they like it. Says: “How I’ve missed you two!”
Darla feeds herself and Ms. Boots, waters Mr. Fern, then settles between them on the sill. They stare out the big window.
Karen writes in a basement. Her work is in Bandit Fiction, Reflex Fiction, Sundial Magazine, The Disappointed Housewife, The Drabble, Potato Soup Journal, Unstamatic, Roi Fainéant Lit Press, Five Minute Lit, and others. She/her. Follow at @MeKawalker883.
I’ve been thinking lately of that Isham Street apartment: 207th Street subway, took the A Train, non-stop 125th to 59th Street.
I never did fully furnish the place. Never completely rid it of cockroaches; never stopped trying. Rent was $350 a month.
My son, Abe, visited; and after dark, Natasha.
Leo Vanderpot lives in Croton-on-Hudson, New York. Starting with the days in the 1970s when he eagerly took workshops with Mary Cheever at the Briarcliff Library, he has written whatever surfaced — memoir, essays, fiction and poetry. A memory piece about donating letters by Dwight Macdonald to the Yale Library was published in Hinterland, a journal associated with the University of East Anglia.
Movie execs brainstorm around a large mahogany table. The pitch: 1990’s action heroes in a period piece where they each play classical composers who must save the world. Casting so far: Stallone as Mozart, Willis as Beethoven, Van Damme as Chopin.
Suddenly, Schwarzenegger bursts into the room.
“I’ll be Bach!”
Dave is half father, half teacher, and half board game designer. He does not teach math.
The story of the week for February 7 to 11 is…
Gift From the Sea by Giulietta Nardone
My folks, per Tom Brokaw, were of The Greatest Generation. Raised in The Great Depression. Married in 1944. Farmed. Saved everything, always and forever.
Decades now since their passing, I’m still going through boxes. I never saw them kiss, but was not surprised to find… They saved each other’s Valentines.
Tom Thrun, a retired weekly newspaper editor in Wisconsin and Washington State, resides with his wife in Oconomowoc, WI. He is an incurable romantic, known to stay up late for Hallmark movies and reruns of Tom and Meg in Sleepless in Seattle, his red farmer handkerchief ready.
He winked at her as he took to the stage. Forcing a smile, she wondered how many more times she could bare this rendition. By the second chorus, he’d traversed the bar and was on one knee before her. Drunkards cheered her nods and tears, oblivious to her blossoming regret.
Dan Welsh is an educator and writer from Manchester, UK.