Stone by stone,we drag and stack,the fallen limbs of yesterdaysnap against restless winds of today. Sturdy knees bend,shadows sway deep blue —our bearbag hangs, makinga moon of its own. Stone by stone,we sit, heavy-hipped,hair pulled awayfrom the damp of our necks. On a Narniac throne of sheetrock,we watch the sun foldbehind the Allegheny River —whereContinue reading “Stone by Stone”
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ChatGPT is Not a Substitute for Therapy
Over the past summer, many of my colleagues and I experienced a noticeable shift in our caseloads. Fewer clients were reaching out to book sessions, and I saw a significant drop in traffic on my Psychology Today page. I tried to pinpoint the reason for this lull and found it was due to a combinationContinue reading “ChatGPT is Not a Substitute for Therapy”
The Blessing of the Hounds
After the hunt, herringbone hungnext to the blood—hounding that fox until cornered. The blessing must first be received.We bow our heads and cross our knees. Resurrecting in the distance,fog haunts like a painting. Pressed to breast, chin to pin—discreetly, she fumblestoward studded Victorian,ready to receive.
Ever Ever Everett and the Slightly Bearded Man’s Enlightenment
His words, despite his own struggle to dress himself in them, were words of wisdom. Words compelling any adolescent (such as I was) to lift their ear in the same manner one might find the sun raising the flower’s. They were words wrapped in simplicity, disguised only for the heart of a wise man- aContinue reading “Ever Ever Everett and the Slightly Bearded Man’s Enlightenment”
The Nest We Built
Through seasons in pairs, they come and go and come again, returning to spring with predictable stubbornness. Digging claws into roots. Perching. Planting. Pecking. Sucking. Buzzing in the new season when bright green stems grow in the old field to remind us how busy the birds and bees have been.Summer comes with its fiddleheads andContinue reading “The Nest We Built”
Pine Jumps
We built a trail, on a thin path covered in dry sappy pine needles. Then, tied rope around the end of each handlebar, and rode our way through wooded red dust lanes. Metal horses neigh with every jump, as rubber tires hit parchedpinecones. Shattering at every heaving heavy, deep-breathing. Push! Chains pop, toes point, thighsContinue reading “Pine Jumps”
P is for Polka Dot
Five years of wonder, you sit beside me wrapped in a bright beach towel. Your sun-bleached hair, wet and soppy, mopped into twizzler strands. The chlorine odor lifts from your shoulder, between teenage whistles and splashing water. Soon, we will pop open a honey jar and peel the thyme for our pickled strawberries. But first,Continue reading “P is for Polka Dot”
Broken Wings
Wilting like a single stem out of water baby sister meticulously fawns his beardless chin tucks into cigarette-stained wingswith cocaine nails he plucks at wires across black wooded hollowcrow’s feet stamp the corner of each eye brass strings drag at the tipfrom the ground up his voice rings “Blackbird singing in the dead of night” pausepresspluck pausepullpeck “TakeContinue reading “Broken Wings”
metastasis
Rachel M. Croce puberty– the transformative awkwardness of self-annihilation loose skin bursts, pimples posture always with embarrassmentvoices arch toward otherworldlinesstones crack open, the evolutionthis is the summer of nipple buds and curiositylingering infidelity braves tolerance expanding thighs and breaking hearts– that hidden corner of the woods where adolescence weeds itself through incomprehensibilitythis isn’t teamwork,this is a kindContinue reading “metastasis”
Tiny Boats
Down turbid rushing stream, tiny boats float where english ivy climb from the bottom of a hill. I look up toward nature’s wall, grounded in fevered moss. Rocks reveal themselves as water pulls in rhythmic motion, and drops like a blanket falling off. My brain’s illusion tells me I see a bird soaring. Are youContinue reading “Tiny Boats”
The Word Mill 