Forecast by Tak Erzinger

-after Polite Safety Notice by Mark Riddes Out there, everywhere a woman past her primeis rolling through the streets, low rumbling thunder.Closer than you think women, are gathering clouds.I know you must have heard of it.They open their mouths, round eyes of storms.Beware and adapt. Like hurricanes, moist air rising, opposing forces have whipped them up.Their season has arrived. A force of nature. Unstoppable. You cannot escape … Continue reading Forecast by Tak Erzinger

The Days of Saint Bartholomew by Xavier Jones

Mercenaries to massacre patriots?Rumors in 1789 Reality in 2020Patriots, to the Bastille! Yes, that is right. Mercenaries, not public servants.They have abdicated this honorAnd exchanged it for the oppressor’s opprobrium Patriots, to the Bastille!There was no other wayThere is no other wayStop the procrastination, known as promises of reformPatriots, to the Bastille! How many days did Desmoulins predict the massacre to endure?Does it matter? Each day … Continue reading The Days of Saint Bartholomew by Xavier Jones

Canicule by John Jack Jackie (Edward) Cooper

Shadows on a stationed camionseek refuge from the heat,its white carcass attracting them like flies,the avenue catches fire,and every car that flickers pastintensifies the flames.Still, passersby will keep this purgatory alive, despite intention to be somewhere —anywhere inside. I am inside,my particular hell a placewithout love, the longing for, revived. Continue reading Canicule by John Jack Jackie (Edward) Cooper

Gossip by Susie Gharib

The tenant of Wildfell Hall, in an aesthetic style,amputated small talk with a palette knife. Catherine Cookson, the child with no “Da”became the Dame of the British Empire.I look ahead and people melt before my eyes,their solidity dissolving into a mere mirage,a fragmented lie.I have learned to reduce to invisibilitywhoever attempts to pollute my pathwith tongues that waglike resurrected hags’. They bite into names with rabid … Continue reading Gossip by Susie Gharib

Positively Volcanic by Dale Champlin

We played a game—the floor was lava—we hopped from couch to chair,crab walked across the window seat,then swung from the chandelieronto the library table. If you knockedanything over—a book, a goblet,a bowl of flowers—you would burstinto flame. When that happened the little hairs of me shot straight up.I squealed.  “Pop Goes the Weasel” tinkledin my ears. Outside small wrenspeeped in the bushes. Mouthwateringsmells drifted from the … Continue reading Positively Volcanic by Dale Champlin