Three Poems by Susan Notar

Thirst, Greece From a photo by Herbert List, 1939 A slender forearm in shadowelbow on a tablefingertips contemplating a tumbler of ouzoindex finger raised from the glass.Beckoning, stretching? Another full...

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