By Liz Verlander They tell me it is like flying. I must, to protect their backs. (Their precious backs that turn me, then turn away from me leaving me to cook in this airless room). In the patterns of the ceiling I see us the day Lisa was born, remember you telling Tom the stork had brought her, recall him incredulous ,you so happy you almost believed the lie. “A stork is a large wading bird with red legs and beak.” Tom later read from his children’s encyclopaedia, “It eats

By Hélène Iolanta I awoke, all eyes to my sister’s knowing hands covering my mouth to the mix of yesterday’s blue nail polish and strawberry hair spray she whispered like lemonade, we have to go my yellow dinosaur backpack and shoes sat ready the monsters are coming Quietly now , she said as she guided my little arms into my green puffer coat I looked to her rainbow sneakers, and the moon watching over so carefully she zipped, up to my chin, then squeezed my shoulders l

By Laurie Paternoster I died once. Let me explain. When cancer strikes twice you don’t wait scheduling time on a table for repairs to an earthly body struggling to survive despite the creeping odds in 18 hours doctors ebbed and flowed exhausted searching for answers fresh eyes boosting blood bags scalpels slicing into virgin territory mining for life-saving veins supposed to be there but elusive all of it shoving minutes into hours no solutions fading