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…

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…

Screams of excitement often sound like anguish.I wish this not to be the case. People cheering at funerals, screaming at parties, pain at the wedding, laughs at the blood. It happens often Smile inside.Scream outwardly. Children giggle out the womb keeping their parents up at night. Jokes make hollers and…

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…

The days now leave meshort of breath. A man is edging alonga guard rail on the Queensboro bridge.I have only ever seen the bedroomdimly lit. I have only walked here once.I drag my finger along the yellow linefor a stranger on the train.these are places I have been;that my time…