Author: Contributor

Gardening

By  Dana Grace My skull is the shattered, terracotta pot, You smashed under heavy steps, Clearing your throat, Over the sound of destruction. Damp earth tumbles from the rubble, Smelling of decay, And fertility. Her practised, fragile hands, Pull the weeds from the soil in my ribcage. The fatigue of carrying your guilt on her frail shoulders, Sends burning pain up her spine, As she tidies up for you once more. She remains silent, Her throat dry, From half a century of repeating your defences. Her eyes smile her apology, As she pulls the tangle of roots from between...

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The Stars Look Very Different Today

  Around the time I was seven or eight years old my family embarked on our first extended road trip. It was to track the coastal highways north from New Jersey, through Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and into Maine. In deference to luxury and in the same way that only the largest seafaring vessels dare cross the oceans, we rented the day’s most opulent highway machine – the conversion van. Pilot seats, a fully reclining third row, and, most importantly, a VCR. When I try to remember that trip, I can conjure a room in one of Newport’s Beaux-Arts...

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Million Star Hotel

By  Spencer Van Der Starren “Making noise is great. As a teenager, it’s what I did. But sometimes, in order to make the right noise, one needs time—and quiet—to contemplate and filter. That’s why I put a mattress in the back of my car, drove 5 hours to Sequoia National Park, and parked under the stars. The park was empty. Surrounded by nothing but the largest and oldest trees on the planet, I finally found that quiet I needed. I left the Park refreshed and ready to start college with the right noises in...

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The Vessel

By Phoenix Robertson SCENE 1 College dormroom; there is a pentagram drawn on the floor. JESSIE, a tall, lanky young woman in a white dress with her hands and ankles tied and a gag around her mouth stands in the middle of it. JACK, a stocky young man with messy hair and a pair of glasses paces at the back of the stage. JOHN sprawls out on a beanbag chair, wearing a button-up shirt which is only halfway tucked in to his pants. His hair is slicked back and he is passing a knife between his hands. JOE, tall...

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That Single Path

By Orji Sunday His mother was scanning the sky watching what the overcast potends. She might have to wait for some time to make up her mind. She watched and waited to put her thoughts into action. In recent years, farmers had better master the climate change driven weather. But Ugochi readily know her way out of the intrigues of the weather. As the crowds wore bright and perchance positive look in Ugochi’s estimate, she picked her panda into a small tray. She also picked her hoe into the same place and cassava slice (abacha ) too. She knotted her wrapper, forming a knob at her left thigh. She was ready to leave when the prophet walked into the house. He was dressed in his now infamous coat. His suit or better still coat missed his knees by whiskers. Many could have misjudged it for a gown were it not for his 5.7ft height. He held his prodigious Bible flat to his rib cage. “Good morning Ugochi ” the prophet hallowed. “Oh! Prophet Dan, good morning sir ; I wasn’t expecting this sudden visit but I had the premonition that something good was coming my way. You know prophet, as I passed through the passage this morning, my left foot glided against a stone and I thought immediately that today might yet be different from other days this month....

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