Ripe with Promise by Karen Pierce Gonzalez
In this old Inverness housewith beveled windows that prism time,I am again at my grandmother’s for the summer.As always, she is not here.But her apron, damp from the wash of morning dishes, hangs near the stove, and her freshly-cut flowers swirl in a bowl of etched glass on the table. Still with dew, their delicate…
Underwonder by Amanda N. Butler
The mermaid, a grip tight in each hand,kept the comb to herself, butthrew the looking glass – unaware of the sea-queen’s spells – and was consumed by the tidesof the crescent trench,and the sea bunny slugwith a waterproof watchcrawled after her – and the coral sang her arrival. ____________________________________________________________ Amanda N. Butler is…
time machine by A.H. Lewis
To go back to any place in time with such a machine would be nothing short of a miracle and yet I would still not believe in god. If I could choose, I would go back to a time before humanity bipedaled across the terrain of a planet we don’t recognize. Maybe to the dinosaurs, but not…
Morning Routine by Lydia Unsworth
Things continue to be in the last place you look. My phone tells me it is raining when my cheeks say it isn’t much. I sleep in a ditch and hear the car go past. We walk through the midnight sunlight. Nothing ends. The ground is on fire. A line…
Doing Time, Part 1 by Craig Rodgers
1. He is a salesman, he tells people, and it’s more or less true. He tells them his name is Gray, when they ask, which it isn’t, and they rarely do. He says the past doesn’t matter and he leaves it at that, but it does, it matters, and it is always…
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Swaying Trees,A breath of time.So sweet, so fair,For all is mine. ____________________________________________________________ Margaret Banford loves reading and creating art. She is happiest when surrounded by books and hot chocolate. She is currently studying journalism, but started out in Classics, which she still enjoys.
At the Stroke of Twelve by Faye Brinsmead
IVMy wire-threaded claws are attached to the door, but i choose. i choose to pop out four times at four o’clock. Out-in, out-in, out-in, out-in. i choose to open my red-painted beak when the two bellows blow the paper whistles. Cu, says one. Coo, says the other. But actually that’s me.…
Miss. Princott’s Time Travel Agency by Barbara Russell
Auckland, present day. The door of the time chamber opened with a hiss, and I staggered out, my head spinning. Next to me, my client, Mr. Torvalds, exited and beamed. His eyes twinkled under bushy gray eyebrows. “That was something, wasn’t it?” Yeah, something awful. Who would enjoy running from…
Table of Contents: Issue 5
Letter from the Editor time stays.we go.Helena Pantsis thisis(not)thewayidieHelena Pantsis Negative EntropyRobert Perron Refugee ChildrenMori Glaser Kabuki LessonsDavid Lohrey How to Bind a Lover, or the Lingering Aubade of Lear AldrichKayla King Ripe with PromiseKaren Pierce Gonzalez A Nighttime MeditationDah The Shadows at NightJoshua Ian The Myth of Ophephone and…
time stays. we go. by Helena Pantsis
I have watched you die a thousand times. Perhaps I am embellishing—perhaps I relive it instead when I close my eyes and imagine you here. But I have seen it, this much is true. It starts, you call my name from where you stand; you run toward me, and disappear. But…
Take Us On A Journey To Somewhen
