Author: limestone-admin
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The Farmer Wears the Crown of Thorns
By Richard Wirick If you wish to supplant someone, to substitute yourself for them, could wishes be little waves, partial causes, small curling waters like the ones Roger fished in through the rivers flowing north to Erie, the inland sea that could create or be created from anything—glaciers, ice-swales, beginnings and endings of ages before…
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Scrub Pine Grown
By D. Eric Parkison Leaving me like this, nodding In the breeze, locked in knots From withdraw, from flicker, Fleeing the scene Where I am: cinched in a forest Cut by incandescences. This wooded trouble. My doubled being Dribbling through the branches. A wooden thought: strength of layers. Seeing where you twisted Away by the…
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An Existential Question
By Robert McGuill His cousin was what to me? Exactly? An ex-niece…in-law? I was her mother’s brother-in-law until I divorced her mother’s little sister, my ex-wife, Marie…plus, I worked for her dad in his body shop one summer when I was twenty, so that made me something too, I suppose— I don’t know. You think…
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Heat Visions
By Damieka Thomas That summer, we were living in Grandma’s old run-down trailer in Olivehurst, California, which Mama deemed Meth Capital, U.S.A. It was painted an ugly off-white with sky blue trim. For months, there was no shower because the trailer was under construction that never seemed to end since our uncle from the Bay…
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Ithaca
By Bryan Price [] As the interview was winding down, she ran her hand through her hair distractedly and asked if I’d ever met him—Jean Dagault. I said, once, in Ithaca. She asked me what it was like and I said what was what like? Meeting him or what was he like? She said both or…
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Bargaining At My Husband’s Bedside, Coronary Step Down Unit, 2002
By Jeanne Bryner “So we move another summer closer to our last summer together—“ –Linda Pastan Your groin’s bruise, purple like mother’s iris. They bloom in June just for your birthday, she lied to the girl I was. The fair’s gone; we can’t be eighteen again. There’s a bell to ring, but no sledge for…
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Body Doubles
By Katie R McKay I’ve always hated the spring, but it’s the time of year I’m most prone to falling in love. When I think back to that spring, I think about so many things, things like the balmy weather, the day drinking, the rolling nature of the days, one blurring into another in a…
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my father loves me best at the dim sum table
By Sabrina E. Siew we sit opposite each other, a Sunday tradition. the chrysanthemums pushed down in hot water, like the knees of his tar-haired child on American soil. only one teacup quiet on tablecloth, he doesn’t ask for more, but orders my bing seoi before I can speak. here, I am little, the lazy…