What makes a woman a howling banshee?The one you hear through your bedroom’s locked window at midnight,the tall woman,her body wasted by grief,gray cloak hanging limply on her slumped shoulders,her green dress, once a rich velvet,now covered in wispy silver cobwebs,her dark eyes sunken and red with tears,her pale skin a…

Tell me of your life as I brush the dustfrom your eye sockets, carefully cataloguing your curving limbs. The way your body held itself, even in death. The way your bones dancein the earth, mud-stained,the expression of all your experiences. All you have loved and felt,all you have been, now fallen away. Sing to me softlythe last shreds of your…

At sea, adrift between worlds,one of terrorone of hope, we travel, nine hundred of us,borderless, in transit,from beating, burning, and a thousand indignities. But here, the mustached man’s portrait is flipped over;we try to forget what is and what might be,we try not to think about those left behind. With…

I tremble —there is evil about,specters and demons,but I must remain resolute,stand with the other magistrates and judges,all men of property and esteem,surely, we must be among the elect. This affliction has spread through the region,so many blackened with devils’ marks–though their blood is red(their master teaches them tricks). Accused,…

The klaxon of cicadasRing in the sultry summerThe ebb and flow of buzzesDeep, dank bayou moistureMake dinosaurs reappear. The light is bentOn paths of mysteryThat shape the shadowsCreating new colorsAnd soaking the vibrant scene. From above, a green paradiseWith velvet carpet flaresBelow, an epic steam boxHung with clouded conspiracySenses warring…

I thought someone mightlove me by now.I had that nightmare again-the one where Ihave forgotten my age;have forgotten the teethI spit into my hands.a boy I slept besidetold me he had dreamt it too-told me not to wish away time. ____________________________________________________________ McCaela Prentice is a Maine writer now living in…