photo by Anca Luchit

Hollow
by Victoria Melekian

I was lost and looking for my keys, for answers, for songs that tell me everything’s going to be all right. Hum a few bars and glide through the dark, past the exposed roots, all that anchored you to me: egg, skillet, stone. I still lock myself in the bathroom to cry. It would be different if you had died.


 

loneliness
a vast chasm
of broken pieces
by Norman Wm. Muise

photo by David Cohen

 

photo by Christopher Johnson

Courtesies 
by 
Toti O’Brien

Mondays
bring back routine
nets of safety

unlike Sylvia
I’d turn on ovens
on Sundays

to exhaust
fumes of emotion
end less hunger