As a very small child I learned language just like all small children. Only in my case there were some mysterious words that took me years to sort out their true meaning. There were words like Amtrak, lugao, Santo Tomás, Los Baños, Baguio, paratroopers. These words were part of my family life and lore. They were the words of World War II internees (another one of those words!). I played with my mother’s crutches, pretending to walk on them by putting my arms where her hands went. I watched my brother put on his leg … Continue reading Bookends by Elizabeth Dudley Wilbur→
Meeting Myself on My Morning Walk …..a long look up into branches I’ll see him, ………………his blond hair in a butch I wore more than fifty years ago. ………..Where wind currents swell every which way, ……………..a tree where limbs are bustling, ………….his arms around a pair of branches, ………………he’ll thrust them away and draw them back in, ………………somehow getting the whole tree …………heaving in his sway, ………………anything for my attention, …..his face filled with sun, ……………his eyes alive, his jaws wrangling ………………with a wad, while below, on the sidewalk ……………….the sweet scent of Bazooka as … Continue reading Meeting Myself on My Morning Walk and Cheney’s Cafe, 2 poems by Rodney Torreson→
As a youngster, I watched my father slice out-of-date reports whose 8 1/2 x 11″ sheets had blank back sides; the pivoting knife of the paper cutter with its own whoosh sound, produced 3 x 5″ slips. He warned me to mind my fingers. He made a little box with half cover in his basement shop to hold the repurposed pages. My mother then painted flowers on it to marry the artistic to the practical. This box resides on my telephone table in the back hall, quaint along side our landline and answering … Continue reading A Taxonomy of Lists by Fred Wilbur→
Ahab’s Widow I wait for him as every whaler’s wife. I write him letters every day. I tell him how he grows bigger and stronger. I tell him of his first words and of his first walk on his own. I write, “What a lovely little pip he is.” I write, “I call him that sometimes, instead of Malcolm.” I write, “Rachel says he’s often mischievous.” I write, “Come home to us safely.” At dusk, as the sun goes down behind the white clapboard house and the elms’ shadows reach out across the lawn to … Continue reading Ahab’s Widow and Two Songs, 2 poems by J. R. Solonche→
Whenever I say that my extended family camps together in the summer—living in tents, cooking over the fire, and bathing in the river—someone will ask, “And you all get along? For a whole week?” Sure, I say. Of course, I’m lying. My family includes my seventy-something father who loses his temper if he doesn’t get an afternoon nap, my sister Carroll who just stops talking at the first sign of trouble, my sister Laurie who has been known to threaten family members with a sharp knife while making fruit salad, my brother Kevin who refused … Continue reading Whiskey Island Mango Salad by Janine De Baise→
My goal in approaching each new painting is to create something both pretty and uncomfortable. The colors and compositions—largely focused on nature—are traditional bubble gum fare that is pleasing to the eye. But then there are too many eyeballs. Is the painting watching the viewer? Why? I mean for the experience to be at least slightly unsettling. If you don’t look too closely, you might think—“well that might be pretty to hang above my couch.” But then you do look closely and decide, maybe not (depending on your social circle). My own … Continue reading New Works by Rachel Coyne→
It was my granddaughter’s fourth birthday party. I, old lady with cane, was sitting in the shade on the side, then made my way cautiously to watch the children hit the piñata with a plastic bat. (In my support group for survivors of sexual abuse, one man told of being hung and whacked just like that; he had black circles under his eyes from never sleeping.) The first few hits yielded no shower of candy and toys. The kids tried again, whacking harder and harder, even the littlest, while the adults yelled raucous encouragement. … Continue reading The Piñata by Dana Robbins→
Though many photographers have influenced me, the top three are Edward Weston, Richard Misrach, and Joel Meyerowitz. Besides his masterful compositions and tones, Weston taught me that simple reality is never simple. Misrach’s desolate but gorgeous images deepened my appreciation of color, even when shooting objects not normally considered photogenic. Meyerowitz’s Cape Light photographs most influence my current work, leading me to search for images that utilize pure colors to suggest stories, moods or memories. One Meyerowitz picture, taken around dusk, haunts me: an … Continue reading Photographs by Steve Patterson→
What the sky chart would indicate is that he and his dog, Bella, are looking at is the constellation Orion. But what he sees is the Frozen Butterfly, one of the constellations his sister taught him. Jack had contemplated bringing his daughter out to stargaze with him, maybe do a little storytelling to his grown and unsettled girl. But she was reluctant in the cold, so it’s just him and Bella—named for Bellatrix, the constellation’s third brightest star. He’s looking at it now, picking it out in the Butterfly’s wing. The first time he … Continue reading Betelguese by Stephanie Coyne DeGhett→
Antonyms for “Affluence” It is a myth that mice are impossible to eat. I see my tuxedo on another man, a groom or musician. It is a myth that the bride will be thinking about Queen Victoria or the General Washington. It is a myth that I will get fat doing this. As a child, I knew I would marry Gretel, and we would never sleep soundly. I understood that the witch’s candy house wasn’t real, but the children’s hunger was. How to Buy an Antique Picture Frame Sometimes you have to drive …..hundreds of … Continue reading Antonyms for “Affluence” and How to Buy an Antique Picture Frame, 2 poems by Glen Armstrong→
Streetlight Magazine is the non-profit home for unpublished fiction, poetry, essays, and art that inspires. Submit your work today!
