Spring! by Sharon Ackerman
Ireland’s goddess Brigid, patroness of practicalities such as farming, infants, and dairy labors, is associated with Spring and also poetry. And why not? How many metaphors are woven into the season, how rich with avenues that lead from the physical world into the realm of myth. Somewhere in history the goddess Brigid morphs into St Brigid in a merger of Christian and Celt practices. Interesting that in the fifth century AD there was much blending of faiths, as though it was not entirely an either/or adherence but an and. Celtic tradition created bridges between the … Continue reading Spring! by Sharon Ackerman
What AM I Looking For? by Paula Boyland
Despite a mountain of unfinished drafts, I am compelled to start another book. While drafting an essay something clicked, a connection was made in my brain, and I want to share those thoughts in a way that will create similar connections for the reader. Maybe this will be the one I actually complete. Excitement drives the ceremonious opening of a new Word doc. After typing a couple hundred words it occurred to me that some of what I had just written would work well for another book I’ve thought about writing. No harm in jotting … Continue reading What AM I Looking For? by Paula Boyland
Lowcountry Tragedy by Erika Raskin
First off, I’m just going to put right out there that I have been known to watch live courtroom TV like it’s a job, attending to whatever case is being broadcast into my living room as if auditioning for a seat as an alternate. I can opine about guilt, innocence and the social context affecting a legal outcome with (possibly oversized) confidence. I especially enjoy learning the backstories (gossip) about the various participants. Defendants, attorneys, bloggers and turf-guarding journalists. They’re all fascinating. (In another life I might’ve been a court reporter.) Quick aside: I recently … Continue reading Lowcountry Tragedy by Erika Raskin
Stay In Your Own Lane by Erika Raskin
The back of my old CRV is adorned with a nearly forty year-old license plate (you can still read it if you squint in a certain light) and three bumper stickers. One says RESIST (as in the GOP’s vile embrace of authoritarianism), the second is a Ukrainian flag, and the third is for my Congressman brother (we’re not in his district but you know, family). A few weeks ago I was filling up my Honda at the local gas station, a rural place where Confederate flags barely raise an eyebrow, when I noticed a white … Continue reading Stay In Your Own Lane by Erika Raskin
A Small Marvel by Trudy Hale
After an eighteen-hour flight with a connection in Dubai, my daughter, Tempe, and I landed in Delhi. Throughout the trip I posted photographs on Facebook with simple descriptions. Palace of Winds, the Baga Border at sunset, a boat ride at dawn on the Ganges. Before the trip I had wondered if I would be gifted with a dramatic adventure tale, as travel in my hippie-chick days provided when I hitchhiked through Europe, a sleeping bag and dulcimer strapped on my back and a chip of acid hidden in a lipstick tube and no return ticket … Continue reading A Small Marvel by Trudy Hale
Progress Report 50 Years after Reading Black Elk by William Prindle
William Prindle has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2022 Poetry Contest Progress Report 50 Years after Reading Black Elk Last night in the silences between barred owl calls I thought I heard some people passing by the pond. Might have been plangent minor chords of bullfrog and fowler’s toad sounding a bit like human voices, but I picked up hints of Cherokee heading west, or was it Monacan disappearing into the high coves? I thought I heard bluegill or maybe perch rising to The surface to feed, but maybe it was only the sound … Continue reading Progress Report 50 Years after Reading Black Elk by William Prindle
Some Trepidation by Fred Wilbur
I am scheduled for a tri-annual colonoscopy soon and like most people, I buy into the statistics of cancer prevention, though it is not an event most people anticipate with joy. I have waited for my appointment for six months and at that have been squeezed into the hours of operation at 7:15 a.m. on Tuesday. Though our lives are for the most part based on past experiences, anticipation, by definition, deals with the unknowable future. We may not categorize anticipation as an emotion, but it can be emotional. Think of the hope of the … Continue reading Some Trepidation by Fred Wilbur
Arson by Matt Dhillon
Matt Dhillon is the 3rd place winner of Streetlight‘s 2022 Poetry Contest Arson Blistering heat, mother of me. A little gasoline makes the heart fire glow, and you can watch things grow in reverse- twigs retract, leaves reduce, logs wither, and then you want to see it undo plastic bags, bottles, couch cushions, and soon it’s marching away from you, this unmaking, sinking into particle board and rotten siding, beams and rafters, nests of mice and wasps and the barn bent down and the light leaving it. Someone struck a match and there was a … Continue reading Arson by Matt Dhillon
When Writing Isn’t Fun Anymore by Lauren Sapala
I was working with a new client who had come to me because she said she hated her writing life. As I sat with her on Zoom and asked her questions about her writing, I watched her face change as she described how she used to feel about writing when she was much younger, and how she felt about it now. She looked troubled, and sad. And also confused. Why was writing so hard for her now? she asked. She didn’t understand why it felt like pulling teeth to sit down and crank out five … Continue reading When Writing Isn’t Fun Anymore by Lauren Sapala
The Sink by Eric Odynocki
Eric Odynocki is the 2nd place winner of Streetlight‘s 2022 Poetry Contest The Sink glints like a boneyard, white plates peeking over the rim like tusks or femurs with traces of flesh or bolognese. This was not how I imagined adulthood. Standing over a faucet and scrubbing. An uncalled-for bicep exercise. I swear the pots and dishes multiply when I don’t look. Mental note: next home with dishwasher. A must. Until then, each evening wanes into the drain. Slosh, brillo, jenga on the rack. Sometimes, I listen to a playlist, finesse the ring-around of my … Continue reading The Sink by Eric Odynocki