Fiction

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He Was Beautiful by Ron Moore

When tragedy strikes we become sleuths. We reconstruct events to establish the belief that it should have been us, it could have been us, it was our fault or we caused their death somehow. The days pass into weeks, the weeks years until the memory fades and details dim.

Fiction: A Life Like This by Laura E. Smith

A new short story by Laura E. Smith

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Four Poems by Mary Ann Larkin

Found Poem in Christmas LetterFrom a Former Blond Bombshell Our abilities shrink daily.Dave is on his walker.I am on oxygen.We are often cranky. Goldenrod I saw my...

Two Poems by Lori Rottenberg

An Introduction I was born from the undertow of empire,tides of death that surge and recede. I was born in a tent made of papers,in countries...

Verbal Escalation by James Lane

Verbal Escalation Slowly, but surely I've been establishingresidency in your bedroom. I took out thatvacancy sign months ago. The services I'vereceived here are some of...
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