Loitering by Sherry Shahan

I am four-years-old. Sitting on the edge of the porcelain tub while my mother paints on her cat-eyes.  It is not enough to watch her in the reflection of the tri-fold mirror. I want her to face me, to feel her arms around me, to squeeze me until bedtime. Instead, she sprays her sweeping up-do…

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The Fall by Spencer Kern

In the early morning, before the sun rose and the town awoke, he stood barefoot on the cold mountain stone, awaiting his fate. It was here, high above the artifice and humanity below, atop the bluffs and outstretched overlook, that he stared at spear tips and determined faces ready to block his salvation. He was…

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