• Nonfiction,  Poetry

    “You’re the only friend I’d pretend to be gay for.” 

    by a Friendly Neighborhood Queer ~~~~~~ “You’re the only friend I’d pretend to be gay for.”  The way you say these words is friendly, you’re joking, being playful, trying to get a laugh from me.  And I do laugh, your arm linked through mine.  But on further reflection, it’s impossible for me to find this phrase funny.  I don’t know exactly what you meant.  I’m constantly trying to eke out the complex meanings in exchanged words, assigning too much purpose to each syllable.  I have trouble seeing things at face value.  You’d “pretend to be gay” for me.  What does that mean?  Are you comfortable enough around me to not feel threatened by my queerness?  Do you think it’d be funny if we shocked and amused…

  • Poetry

    Your hands vs Mine

    by Oceana Gamel-Howes Hands. They all serve the same function, they all have the same basic shape. Some are old, some are rough, some are small. Hands tell a story, and not just through their appearance. The things our hands do are an extension of our brains, our minds, our thoughts; the hub of activity that lives in our skull. That place is where we come from, and our hands are the most important tools we own to express ourselves. Your hands may not seem too different from mine based on appearance, but it’s not about that they look like, it’s about what they can do. Your hands. Yours hands…

  • Poetry

    Trial and Error

    by Roman Dial Trial and error Failure and terror The truth of the matter at hand. Death in a whisper Is so much to weather For the life of a Wife and her man.

  • Poetry

    Emotion of Music

    By Paige Flack Once upon a time, a little girl with wild blonde hair looked over the bluffs on the coast of Cook Inlet The sun was setting and below the sweet hum of the blowing wind, a gentle chorus of birds sang a sweet song Nature was presenting its symphony with absolute perfect timing and poise How beautiful it was That was one of the many times the little girl would be captivated and left in awe of the unfathomable wonders of music Every song had a story and a deep meaning behind it Even the earth, singing praises to our Creator Music is its own language It speaks…

  • Fiction,  Poetry

    Last Train to Cragganock

    By Allison O’Leary She waits for him every evening and his soft words mix with the smoky dusk and the music of the street buskers. 1958 passes in a blur of candlelit laughter, whiskey headaches, and clicking heels. She sees other women waiting for their lovers on street corners, cigarettes daintily clasped between red lips, leaning up against brick walls with the same pearls, same pinned hair, same anxious, begging eyes. She ain’t like them, she’ll say. Her hands tighten around her copy of Patrick MacDonogh poems he gave her the first night, trembling. He’s a upstanding man, a good Catholic. She’ll wear her rosary on the nights she stands…

  • Poetry

    Dear X

    by Anonymous Remembering Reverberation Echo Ripples in the water Butterfly effect How a decision made so long ago by someone else has made my life a tornado filled with fire His choice Made her leave And she taught me what to believe And he taught me how to be treated Did he know? Did he realize or understand that his decision would kill a little girl Letting her fall to his feet Screaming for him to wait Come back Don’t leave She’ll pick up each piece of herself Try to find anything to use as glue Instead she finds rocks Harsh waves Knives Why am I so addicted to people…

  • Poetry

    Feminine Attributes

    by Shelly Wozniak Flexing like a man, I attempt to remove a ring from a hand swollen with excess fluid, marking a cycle giving life, serving as a reminder that I am a woman. She wants me, but not my structure. Closing praying eyes she creates me from a rib – removing my breasts, the shape of my hips, giving me biceps I have no use for. We are daughters of Eve from different trees. Hers, tall and in the sun, mine, absent an Adam, flourishing in indirect light. We take in heat, and grow from water. Two similar compounds differing in an element, combustible, burning, attempting through reconstruction to…

  • Poetry

    An Artist and his Muses/A Picasso Exhibit/Vancouver 2016

    by Shelly Wozniak Piece by piece he took her apart, leaving only one letter of her name hidden above his signature. Nose of a pig, eyes that cannot possibly see, the convolution of her contour flattened by his hand to a pointless stroke. Her mangled chest and hips, reversed, reassembled to something easily understood. Resemblance more than real, he would say, compelled him to fracture the female. She has become a conversation piece, stripped down to the period. If her mouth were in the proper place I am sure she would scream.

  • Poetry

    Darkness of Soul

    by Patricia Pierce Graying clouds grow spindly wisps, highlighting the city’s twilight. Whispering wind, that only I can hear, severs memories of your voice. I pace, alone, where cobwebs dangle from unlit light poles. My spine shivers, cold. Summer heat rises from the pavement. My lungs pant for breath. The ever-present fear of sleep claws at my eyes, forbids me from glancing backward. Future forever the same: Days and nights without you. Darkness resides in my soul, promises of peace, no more.

  • Poetry


    by Patricia Pierce Today is one of those days I trek to your final spot, Near the bend in the highway, Where the curb and the light pole Bear chipped scars. I lay my head against your hand-hewn cross. Fingers dig into the moist soil, Unable to forget the night of your death, My sobs soak into nearby sprigs of green. I flip through Harley magazines That show black leather and tell stories, Watch the pictures and captions blue into you. Today is one of those days I feel the familiar flush of love and loss. Today is one of those days I miss you all over again.