John Lennon’s Ghost
By James BurtI once went out with someone whose bath was haunted by John Lennon’s ghost. The faint sound of songs he never got to finish came through the pipes.
The Years, The Years
By Diane GottliebWhen the aides on the night shift drift off to sleep, residents jump out of bed. Tiptoe down hallways to the recreation room. First one in hits the lights.
October Again
By Beth ShermanBark peels off the maples. Leaves wither and die, everyone says how beautiful. Sedum turning a muddy green, like rotten asparagus.
Photo Story: The Other Side
By India KeaShe arrived with clenched fists, wide eyes, and strong lungs. During the cleaning, the elders caught her stretching her neck, peering into the darkness of a near past.
Unused Magic
By Maureen McElyThere are wishes in my hair, constellations of fluff from dandelion ghosts my daughter blows in my direction.
Settling Into The Rest Home for Ragged Girls
By Anika CarpenterThe island’s breakers rattle windows. Filthy storm clouds snigger, ‘“the jetty is as brittle as your bones.”
I Wish I Could Tell My Dead Husband
By Jamy BondThat I stole his Percocet stash and then helped him look for it. That I found his suicide note tucked inside his dog-eared copy of Infinite Jest.
In the Psychiatric Emergency Room
By Yu LiYou make up reasons for skipping pills. You must lie because the robins are watching, rolling both paranoid eyeballs, their jaundiced bellies bulging...
Common Ground
By Sara Siddiqui ChansarkarMy name is Sara, I say. I’m from India. Never met an Indian with that name, they say. Is it short for something? No, that’s my first name. I say.
It’s Better This Way
By AJ AtwaterThe convertible black as night with straight-up fins and a grille like shark’s teeth comes to rest in the bar’s parking lot among long-bed pickups with pipes and lumber and paint-splattered extension ladders...
Photo Story: Arcana
By Robert KealEach card foretells a fresh doom. She lays them side by side, three perfect slabs, her bridge towards the truth.
Jigsaw Puzzle
By Roberta BearyWhen someone said, I saw your husband eating out with another woman, he said she’s a colleague and I believed him...
Foreign Countries
By Emily FarrantoWhen we fell in love, my future husband wrote: Being with you feels like being in a foreign country.
Lullaby for Mariupol
By Stephen ConnacherI remember the chilly winter carnivals at Drama Theater, and the new green and yellow maternity hospital. Neighborhood babushkas gossip among the falling leaves.
