Denny’s Grand Slam Special

By: Tatiana Forero Puerta When I was little I thought people only died at night. When death came for her at 4pm the sun still shone blossoms pink to velvet opening their tabernacle mouths towards the sky, petals like hallelujah arms. A bird on the windowsill stared in opened its beak silent, unable to sing the piercing song of our sorrow. After they rolled her pale body away there were enough hours left to keep living like running in a dream where no matter how fast your legs shuffle, you’re never moving: we could get in a car, go grocery shopping,…

Red Prince

By: Barbara Westwood Diehl Let us be a diocese of two, not parishioners, but a confessional of cardinals, each of us red as papal slippers, a clergy plumed in tongues. Let us be our own absolution, our liturgy a litany of your hymn singing to my psalm, your hallelujah a chorus to my every verse. You and I, we are a rapture adapted for flight. Let us be red princes of our own northeast Let us be whistling priests in the sacrament of air. Barbara Westwood Diehl is founding editor of the Baltimore Review. Her fiction and poetry have been published…

Blue Exhaust

April 4, 1968 BY:Janet Reed At eight, sunk in the back seat of my dad’s red Corvair, yawning into my pink flannels, I lost faith fast, the way a bandage ripped from skin tears the weave of wound it’s tended. The night of the murder in Memphis, we waited in the graveled drive of a trailer park, my mind on the promise of ice cream when mom returned. Engine idling, Dad slumped in his seat, hand on the Delco’s AM dial, and hummed a hymn with Loretta Lynn. I still hear their song, still hear the motor’s measured piston taps…

Mummy

By: Marie-Andree Auclair My first mummy, I stared at so long my father wondered where I was. He did not see I was with herin the glass cage sitting compact arms holding my knees staring back. What had they done to me that I lingered undissolved leather on stone prisoner of time not allowed to fade? She found my dreams. We ran on the sand of her river wove baskets in the reeds laughed, rarely disobeyed. In the dark, I feared her loneliness matched mine. Marie-Andree Auclair’s poems have appeared in many print and online literary publications such as Apeiron, Gravel…