That cow can’t walk. She’s all lame. I won’t touch her hooves.
Tag: Creative Writing
ONE POEM – William Doreski
Dried for sale, sea stars remind you
that we haven’t seen the Atlantic
breathing heavily along a beach
for a couple of plague-struck years.
Navigating Goodbye – Tyler Plofker
The party is winding down and it’s time to make your exit. You stand in the living room mentally preparing for the torrent of goodbyes you’re now socially obligated to initiate. It is Christmas Eve.
FLASH FICTION – Edvige Guinta
I told no one. Not my parents, not my older sister, not my little brother. I locked myself in the bathroom while my mother stirred tomato sauce and tasted spaghetti (we did not like al dente).
On Visiting My Elderly Parents After Lockdown — Mark Czanik
A sprinkling of much needed rain has fallen overnight, and some of the roses have left broken mosaics of red and yellow petals on Dad’s newly cut lawn. Ideal conditions.
COMFORT FOODS // Homegrown — Nadine Alm
For a while I would obsess over how I could make my London plot look less like itself and more like the one I’d walked through as a child on summer holidays.
ONE POEM – Susan Calvillo
goat cheese cannoli with garden gem tomatoes & a floral salad
a hot croquette with apple compote, pumpernickel, & sherbet
blackberry compote on a throne of chocolate mousse
a slice of seasonal pumpkin spice cake
all go to waste
ONE POEM – Ella Sadie Guthrie
other poets will fall at my feet
cover their cheekbones in cream cheese
for me to lay stale crackers on their noses.
ONE POEM — Louise McStravick
We look up to her, I’ll teach you how
it works she says to the ram’s head, the birds eye
her mouth devouring snake heads
ONE POEM — Diane Fahey
a frieze of lacemakers
intricately at work
beneath the bay’s
array of scintilla –
ONE POEM — Florence Campbell-Gray
My name is June; you have to say it like ‘sex’
softly bright
like it’s a pink toaster
COMFORT FOODS // Reheating Leftovers – Bojana Stojcic
Reheating Leftovers And there you wereletting the world know you’d betemporarily unavailableagainthinking, All I can do now iswait for the clocks to tickhalf past six because thenthe door is opened andstays open untilthe blood has been takenout of the bodiesgiven a brief stirput back in or your hate of the present brings you to the…
Porridge 