By Erin Hall My grandpa died yesterday. It happened at three in the afternoon, on Saturday. It was a gorgeous day, one of those ones where you start to feel summer looming on the horizon. A day full of hope and new beginnings. As I sit here in my parents’ kitchen, I think back to yesterday afternoon at four or

By Anna Huttar Tangled, twisted carpet, shreds of grass Folded together into clumps of death— The fodder for a raging appetite, A carcass for the prairie’s ravening crow. The hungry flames come, lick the barren land, Taste crippled grass with dainty, cultured sense— When once the taste is given, nothing more Can halt the charge of charring, rapt advance.

By Johanna Clark Kat always said she would travel the world, Sue thought as she looked at the postcards. Forty years were compressed into a three-inch stack packed into the driftwood box that Davis had made before his hands had started shaking so badly. Sue hadn’t needed to open the box in…well, it had been a while. With

By Gloria Gustafson Nature retreats home Friends and flaming lights bring peace As Night takes its watch Gray curtains of sky Swing aside to stained glass panes with Dawn’s housekeeping Snowdrops bend their heads As scouts for spring’s green kingdom To say warmth has come

By Natalie Crowe The man before her didn’t fit the stereotype of the clientele she normally received. He was too tall, too young, too handsome, too perfect. His hair was dark and curled perfectly across his forehead. His face was perfectly shaped, his jaw sharp—the type of face any woman could fall in love with. As a woman