By Ruthie Voth

seventeen years ago,
you were the center of my universe.
major events rocked our world
but i was oblivious.

you
in your tiny, newfound luxury
were a tonic to my lonely heart,
a refuge from the overwhelming,
a gift more hard-earned than a freshwater pearl.

your joy as you grew
defined the outline of our days —
autumn running through apple orchards,
rain water rushing through a parking lot grate,
Hop on Pop and Brown Bear, Brown Bear
over and over again:
little novelties-
smile-inducing moments,

you and your brown-eyed sparkling smile.
quiet boy, so self-controlled —
but you never could hide the happy.

out of all of the memories
locked away by time,
these few trickle through the cracks,
collecting in a secret corner of my mind,
a cool draft to refresh the dry spells of
life without my baby.

By k.j. mcdaniel

They’d been in there for years, lying among
carnival bobblehead collections, under a
shorted-out electric blanket in the cardboard
box marked as miscellaneous and tied up
with the red rotary phone cord. Hardly ever
thought about, almost forgotten like food
poisoning — a two-day puke fest of fries
marinating in stomach antacids whirling
around that little imagined carousel there
in the bowl — until you get that friend request
from a friend of a friend, which then makes you
want to call a best friend, all the while pretending
it’s about catching up, touching bases, but really not
wanting to go there again and having to cut the rotary
cord only to find the bobbleheads staring back at you
with permanent kooky grins.

By Jesse Mast

He tumbled onto the rug and
Got up again, and this time Rodney took two whole steps.
Applause. Six more steps. And then they gave him a raisin.

They told him he had “to go.”
He went, and they gave Rodney a raisin (sometimes two).
Chocolate wasn’t good for
That sort of thing. Raisins were good for you.

He got ten in the bathtub every
Saturday night.
“Raisin fingers” Mommy called them.
They tasted yucky though
(like sometimes when he had his mouth washed out with soap)

But they were the only prize for enduring bathtime.
He was a big boy. And too much chocolate still
Wasn’t good for you.

Rodney’s boss increased his salary because
He was a good worker, and that was
How things were.

When Rodney’s knee began to throb
And ache, he poured gin and added a handful of golden
Raisins — for his damn arthritis, you know — soaked them and ate
Probably a good bit more than ten now
But he was careful. Rodney didn’t drink.

Rodney’s widow still has his golden-embossed solid oak plaque:
“Employee of the year”