By Kessia Robinson

I sit beside a roaring. All else is removed. It’s just the lulling loudness Of the voice of a God— Just the maker of Thunder and roses Carving out the stones With a puff of frosty breath— Just Creator and Father, The tempest and the lullaby.  

Waxing and Waning

By Jennie LaFortune

I’ve been having a hard time putting words to paper – or screen – lately. My voice and stories feel tied up or dried up. Like even as I write this, I have little to no gas in my writing engine. My words feel too blah, too fake, too whine-y, too…absent. This isn’t an unfamiliar …

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The Sparrow’s Defense

By Andrea Stacy

I was obediently silent, my song shrouded for the night— well, one note, or perhaps two, loosed in response to the shafting moon and a brief volley, quite accidental, when the breeze swept by— But when dawn shivered against my breast, startling instinct, I shot my quiver high into the unsuspecting sky. What? Fault? Not …

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