The Bells of God [essay] by Rachel Simon

“What is God?” I asked my best friend Naomi, as we made our way in the afternoon sun toward the woods behind our New Jersey houses. “God is everything,” she said with some authority. “How’s that?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is he is.” I pondered this, as we followed …

Anything But That [story] by Kathryn Trueblood

Up to now, we’ve had a marriage made in Costco. That was our joke about the day Walter put me on his Costco membership, and I had my picture taken for the ID card. What followed was a mature discussion of marriage. “It’s the concept that bothers me, “ Walter said “You start out as …

On the Radio [poem] by Robert Sabo

I never learned to listen to music until I had to listen to music I did not like. My house was always full of music when I was a boy; Scottish music and the Everly Brothers until my mother died, and country music afterwards. I guess when my Dad couldn’t hold my mother’s hand anymore …

Phosphorescence [story] by Martha Anne Toll

In winter she sat by the window and watched the ice floes drift down the Pamisquaddy River. They were the season’s flotsam, envoys from an unknown shore. She tried to imagine where they came from—a pond breaking up in Canada, or perhaps the next town over, the closest one up Maine’s jagged coast. If she …

Winter Lover [poem] by Vincent J Tomeo

We made love In the snow. She sat on my lap A perfect fit Like dovetail construction on fine furniture. I was surprised The snow was so warm.   [Refer: this poem put the editors in mind of the story “Winter Palace,” by Rosalie Morales Kearns.]  Vincent J. Tomeo’s poems have appeared in the New …

The sea [poem] by Douglas K. Currier

By an older colder voice, the oceanic whisper: “I am the solitude that asks and promises nothing; That is how I shall set you free. There is no love; There are only the various envies, all of them sad.” from “In Praise of Limestone” by W.H. Auden   We are defined by the voices to …

Sunroom: October 2014 [essay] by Judith G Zalesne

Nothing is moving. If there’s a breeze, the trees aren’t telling, except for the occasional flutter of an about-to-fall, scrawny branch of dried brown leaves dangling from the weeping cherry tree. So the view this morning from the sunroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows is a still-life panorama. I see multiple greens—from yellow-green amsonia shrubs, to blue-green spruce …

Saint Jerome in the Desert [poem] by JB Mulligan

The hermit kneels beneath the crucifix, gazes at praying hands as if, were they to part, some dove of innocence would leap into the cloud-ribbed chasm of the sky, domain of hidden predatory hawks, wings and talons stretching as they swoop. Behind him, there’s a Bedouin boy in flight from lions (pacing, lean, intent on …