Category:Words

Dance Looking at the Sun

Robert Bensen

Creative Nonfiction
“The Old Ones who gave us these songs and dances said that when we do this, they will come and hear our prayers for help and healing,” Buck Ghost Horse told me years ago, inviting me as he did every…

Slither

Halle Wood

Creative Nonfiction
As sunlight peeks through the humid, foggy morning, I look out the car window to see clumps of fallen trees lying in odd, abandoned piles, across the road. Crippled branches, bent and contorted, reach towards the car like brittle fingers.…

Trump and the Battle for Human Nature

Frances Moore Lappé

Essays
Feeling blindsided, baffled, or just bewildered, Americans are asking, How did we get here? New York Times conservative columnist Ross Douthat likens the experience of observing Republican dysfunction to seeing “a calf born with two heads…watching something that the laws…

First Jazz

Pete Mullineaux

Poetry
Coltrane, cool train
taking vinyl track
with swerve
and verve, hip dip
curve of lip, gravity ...

Cambridge Days (a novel)

Teodros Kiros

Fiction
Cambridge Days is a unique literary work that systematically combines the genres of drama and story-telling. In this book, Professor Teodros Kiros, has assembled a diverse group of actors who love to make connections with areas of knowledge...

The Ungrateful Son

Dinty W. Moore

Fiction Guest Artists
Once a man was sitting with his wife. They had roasted a chicken which they were about to eat together. Then the man saw that his aged father was approaching, and he hastily took the chicken and hid it in a cupboard, for he did not want to share. ...

First Prize: Snapshots Of A Summer

Eddie Virgo

Creative Nonfiction
Through dense fog, Sylvia and I ran down the barren street. It must have been four in the morning, yet neither of us showed signs of weariness. From above, we could hear the distant rumbling of thunder. ...

Second Prize: Chicken Soup

Athanasios Lazaro

Creative Nonfiction
It was a cool, crisp evening. The golden sun was setting over the distant horizon, painting the clouds red. Blood was spurting from the mutilated stump of the chicken’s twitching neck, painting the trees red. Life is a fragile, serious thing, is it not? ...