By Diane Payne
You waken to the sound of an owl hooting, two cats screeching, and the sound of humans crying, their grief whirling into the eternity of nocturnal voices reaching out…
Listening
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Pit Stop
By Mikki Aronoff
She cuts the engine and swings down from the cab like a spider monkey flying through rainforest. She thrives on heights, but she’s running out of diesel and there’s that hot date with a trapezist seven exits away.
Things That Have Fallen
By Mikki Aronoff
The wind blew and the door splintered. She squeezed you out fresh as a lemon, just in time for Jeopardy. The only time they took your picture, it was a cold day in December.
Dear Mathilde
By Mikki Aronoff
At dusk on the last day of second grade, we stopped doing wheelies in the empty lot down the street to watch Mathilde, rigid on the sidewalk as her mother shoved a suitcase into the trunk of someone’s car. Her mother never turned around. Never waved goodbye.
Tijuana
By Victoria Ballesteros
“In dreams, I glide past borders and through concrete doors to reach places I have never left. I fly over green picket fences and bougainvillea trees adorned with slivers of the past.”
A Growing Collection of Oddities
By Meg Pokrass
At the Japanese lantern festival, the Spinster and I hip-bump in, psyched about whatever people think of us, two zaps of purple in life’s crazy shuffle, licking wasabi from our lips, ignoring each other’s hair, unpedicured or manicured, candid about our hard-earned frumpiness.