Pre-teen girls sharing gossip, under covers — a sleepover.
At midnight they continued making such noise on the third floor.
Two o’clock, we were still awake in the bedroom below them.
Greg Hill is a poet and short fiction writer in West Hartford, Connecticut, United States. He has a MALS degree in Creative Writing from Dartmouth College and an MFA in Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts. His work has appeared in Barzakh, Atlas and Alice, Six Sentences, Grub Street, and elsewhere. He and his wife enjoy the struggle of raising three determined feminists. Website: https://www.gregjhill.com.
After the scholars leave, a miracle occurs Inside the tabernacle of their memories The occasion is etched perfectly, Spinning up an exact replica of every single detail lived
When they come back together, this power Runs in full display as the memories show off Every line, feature, rise, and lull That took place between them in their encounter
Perhaps it helps that when they gather They only talk about the last time they met, An occasion when they discussed The prior meeting’s agenda of the gathering before
We Are the Language Here
The best proof is a familiar one, apparent in the form
Of a leaf and the branches the leaf grew from
It is in the seed’s wings that carry it in the wind
Or the proboscis of the fertilizing butterfly
Is it all pretty? Sure, and that is irrelevant
Along with camouflage that tricks a predator’s eye
Plus the complexity at play within those lenses
None of it points to a creator, Only to an architect
And any architect implies there is a contractor
But who? You and I reading the blueprints for design
A way for the cosmos to show we are here and needed
Garnet Harbor
Incursions in the morning, is the sky wounded and red because I broke out
Or is the city gathering up and throwing away a fire taken from the world?
Winds rolling along my limbs try to stop me with their howling confessions
But temptations of the docks are stronger than chances to glean absolution
On the waterfront, the world lays down a deck of unfolding designs to scry
Black ships pierce and sail along the horizon, floating pyramids and hotels
From shore to shore, a rebirth of cargo and destinations, rewards of new use
Claim Your Jar Today
When will I stop overpaying on my car insurance? When will I begin to pay it? And when will I get my car? I never wanted one, until now, seeing what I am missing out on, another deal, another steal, a sudden way to get one over on others has opened up, and I want it to take me
Maybe then my scores will finally rise, my days will be a bonus, and the hours no longer tiny devices that prolong a life that keeps losing on the draw, and why? Because I am of the eligible, newly worthy to know a secret that unlocks a hidden world of fabulous savings
Schmutz and Length
In the morning, the estuary of possibility swirls And flows in between the bed and front door
Each step across the hardwood and tiled stone Brings in the heat of an afternoon coalescing
Hints of the trimming future hours undertake, Potential adventures cut off at the budding branch
Ben Nardolilli is a theoretical MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Door Is a Jar, The Delmarva Review, Red Fez, The Oklahoma Review, Quail Bell Magazine, and Slab. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.
Love’s cast takes off the burden of the heavy ground.
Love Lets Offered Values Exist
Love Locks Off Vices Exceedingly
Love Labels Outrightly Valued Entities
Love Locates Obvious Virtues Easily
These are the faces of L.O.V.E.
(J)
Dad Loves Me
Dad loves me because He made me Dad makes me trust him because he made my team Dad makes me strong because he made me not want Dad makes me smile because he took care of my file Dad makes me sleep well because he made me well Dad makes me work because he made me walk Dad makes me obey because he kept ‘Bad’ at bay Dad makes me pass life’s test because he made me life’s best Dad makes me read my book because he made me the nook Dad makes me a way because he made me pray Dad makes me alive because he gave me a life Dad makes me like everyone because he made love anyone Dad makes me preach because he made me teach Dad makes me modest because he made me honest Dad makes me eat because he made me fit
