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Writer Spotlight

Kevin Garcia

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Anastasya Laverdiere

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Brandon Bagby

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Book ALTARWORK Artist

Events

Experience

On Our Anniversary

CREATIVE NON-FICTION, Creative Writing

It was two weeks ago when our son and I took a break from reading, and I showed him the wedding photo album, pointing out different people. (Yes, that’s your aunt when she was 16 as the maid of honor….

Faith Like Waves

CREATIVE NON-FICTION, Creative Writing

My faith comes in waves. Sometimes small and rhythmic, beating to the pulse of my heart, His heart. I walk each step but a moment away from the next beat of faith in my life. Sometimes big rolls, pulling deep…

Who Are You?

CREATIVE NON-FICTION, Creative Writing

Who do you think you are? The voice whispers condescending in my ear. I know why it was a snake in the garden. It’s something about the hiss. My answer comes slow and quiet. On shaky knees I reply, “I…

Slipping Silently

CREATIVE NON-FICTION, Creative Writing

We often think of drowning as a loud, splashy affair. That’s where we’re wrong. Drowning often happens without a single sound or a cry for help. I haven’t gone to church regularly in almost six years. There was no big…

Murmurs of Silence

Creative Writing, POETRY, Spill My Soul

Close your racing mind, which surges and strives to discover life’s meaning, trying to tuck the answers in its tiny, cluttered pocket. Welcome silence and you will find the earth murmurs in gentle confidence. If you breathe into its ear,…

Houses and Homes

CREATIVE NON-FICTION, Creative Writing

Doll Houses. Ghetto houses. Foster homes. Group homes. Children’s homes. So many houses. So few homes. I stand in front of a dilapidated building in an urban neighborhood. Its porch is sagging to the right, the railing on the stoop…

Fringes

CREATIVE NON-FICTION, Creative Writing

Freckle Face. Carrot Top. Shrimp. Two by Four. Trailer Trash. These were all labels I received as a child. I have always felt like the odd one out. Look at me and you’d say that is ridiculous. I am not…

These Barren Fields

Creative Writing, POETRY

These barren fields, Wolf-grey coats of bark and Dust, coarse lines bleeding Trails, idle in stillness, Parsed, perched, Widows of breath, Brittle as ash in wind Sit slack-jawed, cold, Hinterlands of impervious past. Fields once green with Life, sealed to drought, Shielded by…

Enough

Creative Writing, POETRY

You carry conclusive statements like you know the end from the beginning, have the verdict from the judge, the presiding member of an end-times jury. You call it child abuse, and murder – you are a character assassin, your slogans…

EDITOR'S PICKS

Hand-Selected For You

Unio Mystica

During Catholic mass in St. Xavier’s Church, the priest places a wafer, a flake of skin, on my tongue as coolly as smoke rings ejected from a murderer’s mouth. Their sacrament, Reshma tells me singing, drags them by the hair, or binds each limb to the bedposts, laid bare like the silvery bottom of a mango leaf drowned underwater, or with malarial kisses, marries them. This sacrament is the knobs in their fingers, knotted with the places buds have been snapped off at the knuckles, now the bloom’s about to break through like from rosehips. As Reshma sings, “Jai. Jai. Jai,” she confesses in her plastic chair beneath the chikoo tree, her sacramental victory rises like a heart-lotus flower, pale and mysterious, after sinking deep into the murky waters of the mind’s own hell, then, flowering as if to burst from the stem of the throat, and opening into a white song only the night lilies of Mumbai can hear.  

Filial Prodigal

Have I found You again, or have You found me? For years I ignored You, placed You on the shelf to collect dust next to the Bible with a spine that would crack a sound to make a chiropractor cringe...
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