On a foggy dawn like this, at the edge of the cliff, at the edge of winter when the wind is blowing through the forest, all the ice chips clattering against each other, Ian loves the pin pricking ice against his cheeks. He screams into the chasm to hear the sound eaten up by the air. Later, he’ll commute down to town and anonymous himself in front of a computer, wearing his headphones, and typing, the words losing their meaning, his caffeine ritual keeping him going, but that wild place of cliffs, wind, and fog … Continue reading Ian, Who Lives on the Mountain Overlooking the City Where He Works by John Brantingham→
I had just helped a young neighbor, much younger than me, dig an annoying stump out of his yard. We were tired and muddy, but he invited me into his house for a breather. “Have a seat,” he said, pulling out a kitchen chair. “How ‘bout a beer? I’ve got Heineken and Moosehead.” I paused. The choices were so unexpected. “Wow, my two favorite beers in the world! How can I decide?” “I can’t really tell them apart,” he said. Without waiting, he uncapped one of each and set them before me. I hoped he … Continue reading Moosehead by John Matthews→
Ty Phelps has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2023 Poetry Contest Dolphin, with Number The city stretches out beyondthe marshland, lights shiningthrough the cold, graymidwestern fog. On screen,a triptych of images of a dolphinstranded on a strip of Cape Codsand. “Smooth as polishedgranite to the touch,” readsthe caption. The dolphin isred-eyed, face shaded with blacklike a great northern bird. Crackedbeak full of serrated teeth. Someone—perhaps a ranger—has painteda number in red on the spentcreature’s side. I wonder whereit will be taken, for what purpose,and my mind floats to a friendwho’d make a “porpoise” joke—she’s … Continue reading Dolphin, with Number by Ty Phelps→
The summer before I turned fifteen I often biked with my two best friends to Chicago’s River Park, thirty acres of grass, trees, paths, playgrounds, and a swimming pool. The park was a green haven in our gritty urban neighborhood that was packed with apartment buildings, stores, factories, gas stations, warehouses, restaurants, and everything else that made Chicago livable and tense. River Park was bisected by the North Branch of the Chicago River. It was an odd looking river because it had been lined with concrete in the 1930s. It looked and often smelled like … Continue reading Under the River Bridge by Paul C. Rosenblatt→
—article title by Gwyn Wright, via swns.com …………….. …..Let me make light of the situation, travel to the nearest interstellar hotel. I don’t want to be maudlin, but I’m going to pack all my favorite mementos of mortality—a photo of my grandmother, the last slice of chocolate cake, and the only shirt that makes me look like I’ve got something going on. Believe me, I know ………….. ……..this is serious. There are lakes drying out, spitting up bodies and boats. There are fires so wild they scour towns down to foundations and loose strings of … Continue reading Scientists Say it’s Time to Prepare for Human Extinction by David B. Prather→
I got to have it (just a little bit) A little respect (just a little bit). Otis Redding, as sung by Aretha Franklin As Memorial Day approaches and graduation season is in full tilt, there will be many inspiring speeches: some will have a few humorous lines thank goodness, some will be overloaded with platitudes and sound bites, a few with creative insight in reading our times accurately. A rare few may have prognostications which are useful, inspiring, and come to pass. One meaningful and heartwarming event, though perhaps not unique, … Continue reading To Solve America by Fred Wilbur→
John Beck has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2023 Poetry Contest The Driver In 1925, Pius XI made you, St. Frances, the patron of all car drivers. I am sure the Pope could not have imagined the enormity of the job he had given you. It is your heavenly mission to make my job easier. Every night that I drive for Uber and Lyft, please watch over the pedestrians who try to die on my bumper and save their unworthy souls. Please bless me when I am without space between cars as I move … Continue reading The Driver by John Beck→
As I marked another donation box I’d filled with my son’s trach supplies, the doorbell rang. Two men in identical ball caps and polo shirts smiled at me from the front steps when I opened the door. The shorter of the two, handsome and well-built, gestured with a clipboard and said, “Afternoon. My name’s Lance. How’s your day going so far?” I shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” “Good.” He nodded. “That’s good. Beautiful afternoon, beautiful neighborhood. And we have a beautiful opportunity that folks like you lucky enough to live here qualify for. Won’t be … Continue reading Flowers by William Cass→
Joan Mazza has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2023 Poetry Contest We Left My Father and Sister at Home Because my mother didn’t drive, we took the bus to Winsted, Connecticut. Two of us alone to visit cousins on the Nicosia side of the family. They’d named a cow Josephine, after my grandmother, who took it as a compliment. That summer I was fourteen and fell in love with the scent of hay, adored by the kitten who lived under the house, and cousin Mike. Zio Nicosia, too old to drive the tractor, taught … Continue reading We Left My Father and Sister at Home by Joan Mazza→
Remember letters? Ones that came in the mail with stamps and occasional foreign postmarks? Remember that moment of anticipation before opening the letter? Remember the thrill of a love letter and the thwarted desire to be in immediate contact? Of course, now in the age of e-mail and texting we can make almost instant contact and become impatient if not answered at once. Forget the patience and time required to find the right words before mailing. Alas, the “art” of letter writing seems a part of the past. As it happens, I have more … Continue reading In Other Words by Elizabeth Meade Howard→
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