An Online Literary Journal for Poetry and Flash
Poetry by Suzannah Watchorn
Suzannah Watchorn is an English-Irish writer who grew up outside of London, UK. She now lives in the US, where she works as a writing coach and freelance editor. Her poetry and essays are featured or forthcoming in Eunoia Review, Nebulous, Sunspot Literary, Wild Roof Journal and Red Noise Collective.
Fiction by Foster Trecost
Boredom lurked like a silent companion, sometimes causing him to see things that weren’t there, sometimes causing him to miss things that were. Such was the case when he caught sight of something he’d never noticed before, though it had been there all along. He moved in for a closer look, so close his nose nearly touched the glass, and what he saw, in the language of his age, was an assortment of creatures, some big, some small. They moved about the confined space and he wondered if they were bored, too.
His brother, a bit older and much wiser, knew things and knew how to explain them. “Where’s my brother,” he asked.
“With his friends.” The answer was always the same, just like everything else. But the creatures through the glass were trapped, they weren’t going anywhere and neither was he.
“What are you looking at?” His brother had returned.
“Them,” he said, then streamed a series of questions so fast, each was asked before the prior could be answered.
“Slow down. One at a time.”
“That one,” he said, pointing to a large figure hovering in the back. “Why is that one bigger than the others?”
His brother presented a different view: “She’s the biggest because she’s everyone’s mother. All the others are her children.”
“All of them?”
“Not the skinny one. He’s the father. He worries all the time, that’s why he looks sick. They’re just like us.”
He believed every word and should have because every word was true, or at least the truth as his brother believed it. He spent the following days matching his newfound knowledge with what he saw, and concluded, just as his brother had, that they weren’t so different.
“You still thinking about them?” asked his brother. “Don’t waste too much time. It’s hard enough understanding our side of the glass.”
“You’re right.”
“Not always, but most of the time.” The two boys laughed, then his brother said something he’d never said before. “Come on, let’s go play.”
“I can come?”
“Sure, the others are waiting.” They turned away from the glass. “You want to race?”
“Can I have a head start?”
“Okay, but you better take it now before I change my mind.”
Without another word he swam away, his fish tail all that could be seen, swishing from one side to the other, and his brother swam after him just as fast as he could.
Foster Trecost writes stories that are mostly made up. They tend to follow his attention span: sometimes short, sometimes very short. Recent work appears in Potato Soup Journal, Halfway Down the Stairs, and BigCityLit. He lives near New Orleans with his wife and dog.
Poetry by Melissa Donati-Pizirusso
I am a helium filled balloon
Released from the hands
Of a little girl
Staring in wonder at the sky
A balloon that floats freely
Up
Into the wind
Caught in branches
Waiting for the next breeze to set me free
Descending then to the ground
And then picked up
By another breeze
Sending me to low points and then high
Low
High
Sweeping at the ground
Then dropping
Into a foliage of leaves
Waiting to be lifted again
By a breeze
That may never come
Or one that may bring me even lower
Until once again
I am picked up
by the hands of a child
that holds me like a treasure
to their chest.
Melissa Donati-Pizirusso is a Mom, Writer, and Assistant Principal. Her love of writing and poetry goes back to when she was a child writing numerous stories and poems on a daily basis. She is a graduate of SUNY Albany where she studied Sociology, Italian and Journalism.
Poetry by Michael Shepley
it was only just
an early morning dream
but for a time
I was an eagle
sharp hunter eye high
in a soft sunny sky
targeting a strange
shape shifting prey
running over the dun
furze of rounded hills
fast flitting slip of
snipped night sliding
quick as the wind
hugging ground like skin
when I woke knowing
it was only the hunt
for my own damn shadow
Michael Shepley is a writer who lives and works in Sacramento. His poetry has appeared in Vallum, CQ, Common Ground, The Kerf, Jonah, Blue Unicorn, Salt and a few others.
Nonfiction by Haley Grace
As a kid, bedtime was so exciting. Right before my eyes closed I would imagine flying dragons and dancing princesses. I drifted away to thoughts of bursting colors and beautiful designs.
As a teenager, the fairytales disappeared but my imagination still soared! Only instead of castles, it was faded blue locker covered hallways that smelled of old books and musky cologne. There were no flying dragons but bright yellow school buses with torn off lettering lined up outside. I would drift away to the false reality of an 80’s movie, where butterflies flooded my belly when my crush kissed me before the credits rolled.
Now I am an adult, or at least in the eyes of society. There are no fairytales in my dreams. My brunette, blue eyed, 80’s curly headed crush is facing the other direction; avoiding a conversation we’ve had a million times. That place between sleep and awake is now where tears flood my eyes. It’s where ideas of doubt, fear, and anxiousness dance in my head. Imagination is now taken over by the fuzzy sounds of the TV I’m not really listening to. The only thing I’m dreaming of is a cigarette because nicotine cures a clouded mind.
No one tells you there is no imagination before adult bedtime. You slowly learn about stiff tension between you and your partner from a fight you swore you would never have. And a racing mind of questions. And lists impossible to complete.
Maybe this is all inevitable.
But if you can: Fight for the dragons. Dance with the princesses. And let the kaleidoscope of butterflies take over as you kiss that curly headed kid.
Haley Grace is an Appalachian raised LGBT+ emerging voice just getting her start in writing. She graduated from West Virginia Wesleyan College with a degree in Communication and Literature. She is working on her Masters in School Counseling and enjoys writing about her adventures, heartbreaks, and observations of life.
© 2024 The Bluebird Word
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑