Kaleidoscope Girl

by Fabrice Poussin

Once more she stands in the face of another soul
the smooth surface of century old looking glass
squinting at fragments of a self once whole.

The pulses in her breast beat inside the thin vessels
hovering timidly in the burning light of summer’s heat
she grasps only shards of her former thoughts.
when, little girl she pondered no such queries.

She may be that forgotten Renaissance girl in the attic
put to canvas by a hopeful lover from a distance
her fair complexion torn by the craquelure
at the jigsaw she has become to suspect so well.

Where does she begin, where are the boundaries
of so many parts in motion as she sits in fearful awe
sharp edges of the giggling teen she once was
cut deep at the dreams of a future she once fathomed.

Even the sorrow of a tear venturing down her lip
seems to break apart thus devoid of source or intent
her pain excruciating must remain hidden in her chest.

She is the kaleidoscope of her many dawns
a universe hoping to come together in a grand home
made of walls seamless of like a marble giant
idea of the child building days of carefree wisdom.


Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and dozens of other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review and more than 350 other publications.

The Proposal

by Keelah Rose Calloway

He said “Marry me” and got down on one knee.
He opened a box, and inside was a rock.
When I said yes, I envisioned a dress,
Not a life as a wife always dealing with stress.
I thought of an aisle and everyone’s smiles,
Bouquets of bright flowers and fun bridal showers,
Not fighting and shouting for hours and hours.
So now we’re divorced, of course.


Keelah Rose Calloway is a writer, a stand-up comedian and a singer. Her first novel book is being published serially as an audiobook, and the first three chapters are available to hear now on Youtube. She is also now posting daily microfiction stories on Twitter @MissKeelahRose. For more information on her growing list of accomplishments, check her out on Facebook.

For Who He Is

by Linda M. Crate

musing mildly
a song of flowers
beneath
a stormy sky
cold winter
isn’t ready to leave behind
the fragrance of spring,
and all her warmth;
shivering and starving for light
we resent winter for holding on
but perhaps his last prayer
is that he be loved
for who he is.


Linda M. Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has five published chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press – June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon – January 2014), If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016), My Wings Were Made to Fly (Flutter Press, September 2017), and splintered with terror (Scars Publications, January 2018).

Thinking Of You Wherever You Are

by Tamera Patenaude

Thinking of you wherever you are,
That is what we have always said.
No matter how far away you are,
You are always in my head.

You asked me why I love you,
And I said I did not know.
But no matter what I say or do,
I could never let you go.

It has been eight and a half years now,
And you are still here by my side.
Over the years it has rung true,
You are my safest place to hide.

Whether you are right beside me,
Or sitting in the next room.
You brush away the tragedies,
And you always make me swoon.

Thinking of you wherever you are,
That is what we will always say.
But living in a world of depression,
We need to take this day by day.


Tamera Patenaude is a 25 year old Canadian writer, wife, student, artist, and volunteer. She recently joined a school choir and uses the arts as a coping mechanism to deal with her depression.

Green

by R.C. Peris

Like a beast from worn, ancient hills and hidden caves riddled with crevice worms

Eve was starved, wild – a thing so similar to the thundering lizards roaming sweltered plains

She was collapsing, inward, cheeks fallen in and separated bones poking thin skin

She had Adam’s magic rib so graciously given to her so she could have life – breath, form

In her knotted hair crinkled, cracking leave corpses cluttered reminding of winter future

Final death of universal autumn running to time’s end where winter guts all, the bitter mass

Adam preferred the high weeds, cracking neck bones of deep roaming mammals, flinging flints

He paid no attention to Eve withered from minus attention, her organs drying in curdled blood

She had his rib but he did not notice the vacancy, the hole blasted with God’s dynamite touch

Near a tree Eve’s gluey tears stuck to pale, yellow dried grasses for Eden was wasting in drought

The serpent was disturbed, upset in a mirror and only wanted the immediacy of misery to die

Eve gazed to the white sky for the sun was new and balmy glowing hues had yet to refine

The serpent chucked a book through the nearly juiceless air from the tall, blooming tree

It hit Eve on the neck and fell open, alien marks from an alien beast, she could not read

The serpent chucked a perfected fruit through the shriveled air from the eternal, flowering tree

Eve, ravished with hunger and raving in mind, bit the flesh candied and luscious, velvet soft

Knowledge trickles slow, drop, drop, beading like sweat on fine fevered skin in summer heights

Her sinews plumped, her cheeks expanded and fattened, her hips a maddening curve of song

Eve knew all, her purpose and her strength, and she went to the savannah to find oblivious Adam

She found him crouching by a beast with bristled hair and in his hand was a sharpened stick

Adam was callow, a He-child ready to kill the life, the animal he thought was given to him

God said dominion and Adam knotted rope and tethered all his gifts, interpreted subjugation

Eve handed the saccharine bitten core to Adam to eat, let the infinite light flood his nucleus

Adam was suspicious of Eve and her bizarre outline, without him she would have no life

She looked at him, feral and now soft, filled out and flooded with some heat he didn’t know

He was hungry so he consumed and took in all that nutritious fruit, the only thing forbidden

And when the knowledge came to him, not slow but a torrent, a waterfall in the hidden soul

He sat down the weapon and fell upon Eve, now familiar, no longer a child, and with his rib

Eve allowed him in, a hot smile and something more humanly primitive than the riches of Eden

There were no terrifying angels, fluttering wings or mountains to scale for the precipice plunge

There was green, varied, articulated, lustrous, dark and light, a billion hues as Adam moved

It rained in Eden but the water was home and it flooded the thirsty and graced the soil

The animals shivered, the serpent wetted and slick, and even God wept for Adam and Eve

For the love growing in the leafy, pliable kernel – the verdant abyss rising up in Eve

Crescendo thunder, blinding silver lightning, magma swelling beneath the rigid land

Eve screamed in the illumination and Adam quivered in the realization, sudden weighty love

She said to breathless Adam, “You gave me absorbing life, splash of seed, a dear libation.”

She said to sleepy Adam, “Thank you for the rib and the green sapling shooting in my soul.”

And Eve slept under a bower of crystal smeared stars and winked at the expanding time


R.C. Peris, when not writing, dreams of having a chicken sanctuary, a sloth as a walking partner, and a refrigerator full of cheesecake. She loves polka dots, mixing cocktails, and mysteries – from Sherlock Holmes to the quirkiness of quantum stuff. She has published three books and is feverishly at work on a few screenplays, when not writing short stories. She comes from a land that is occasionally full of fire, floods, rumbling earth, famous people, and with a tendency to riot – California.