Anita G. Gorman
Mollie got off the Ashleyville Local Schools bus, dropping three books on the road as she tried to save her clarinet from
damage. She could hear laughter on the bus but didn’t look up at the windows. She didn’t want to see the faces of her
neo-classicism sings the blues
the morning after
drooping purple domes
smoked out, spent,
out of rent
but at sunup
the ex-citizens are happy
having upended the tumult
the flag factories, gone–
without fires, fumes
all … view
by Rick Blum
I was listening to talk radio the other day when a Trump supporter called in to complain that collectively we’ve gone off
the rails: too many broken homes, too much political correctness, too few morals to guide our public (and private) behavior.
Her prescription was … view
My husband has been obsessed for some time with replacing gas-fueled vehicles (“gas guzzlers”) with electric battery-fueled
vehicles. He is fond of quoting a Tesla Car forum user: “I got tired of being a sucker and paying for over-priced crude
oil knowing the money was going … view
Who Gets to be You, Now?
I write from the past to let you know
your devotion to red alert will fade.
What feels selfish now will heal you
and remain, righteous and whole.
Your tears will find new purpose.
In my now, the world exists of … view
In an alternative universe
This world denies all possibility
Of loving one of whom I am in awe:
Society, the will of others, law,
All protect only domesticity.
True feeling’s seen as eccentricity,
Infidelity, worse, and must withdraw
Or at best stay … view
The open secret of speculative fiction is that no matter how far into the future you place your story, you’re always talking about the present. Our society is future-oriented because we who live in it are obsessed with figuring out how to make “now” better. The future is … view
The entire contents of a dead man’s house
threaded onto a tarnished silver chain
kissed two red crescents onto my collarbones
as I slipped on his shoes, half a size too small.
I’m inside the last suit
from his widow’s wardrobe,
a row … view
You don’t miss the scent of water, everywhere, everywhere,
Until you’ll never see a lake, or stream, or mud puddle again.
– Graffiti on a Mars living quarters pod wall
It’s blue there. So very green.
All things reflective in water.
Black in … view
The year was 2050 and, in what had begun as a slow-moving vertical ascent at the turn of the century, the U.S. prison population now hit 40%. Most of the 20th-century boomers and their offspring who had at first clandestinely, and then openly, fought for privatization of the … view