Stephen Toskar: the American clad in his orange jumpsuit, head covered until the butcher, a heavyset magician in a black hood, pulled it not like a rabbit but like a spoiled melon from its sack, and placed it on the sand
Paul Lojeski: August blazing across Boston. Working that factory, a furnace inside, sweating sheet metal walls. Blacks and Cubans and Puerto Ricans and two long-haired white boys banging iron, wielding flame.
Paul Lojeski: The good man’s smile lit up the ballroom like a full moon over a Caribbean Sea.
Preeti Singh: Clouds are rumbling at the corners of my eyes rims brim nebulous stirrings at the bottom of my glass pain crystals surface again how could you just walk away with the best years of my life.
Kristin Christman: If we could see a Mother’s Day All around the world, Where mothers lived a day of joy, Where mothers felt their worth, Then what exactly would we see So moms could realize That their lives are important and Their own perspectives wise?