Tag Archives: Spring 2018

Just a Crush by John Ballantine

Two people looking out at the sea
 

Did she touch you like that, with a little more than love, a little more hurt than you want? Did you see the pain in the dulled eyes; hear the shame in her slurred words? Did you know the room was not safe? I knew when I turned in the dark that I should not switch the light on—not because my clothes were thrown on the chair, or the book on my desk was opened to unfinished homework. No, I knew that the door was open a crack letting in eyes that were too familiar. … Continue reading Just a Crush by John Ballantine

Promontory by Joan Colby

foggy sunrise through trees
 

Promontory   At the overlook, we could see four states If the fog had not rested its elephantine Rump upon the conifers. We can barely See each other, much less the road Switchbacking down the side of something Extraordinary, that we’d hoped to Experience, in full sun, even though We rose in and out of sudden Precipitation. The entrails of an owl Would predict a dirty soup Like purgatory where hopes are grey Bandages flapping loose over the red wound. A shaman burns the diary. This journey Must be undertaken. The valleys spread tables For … Continue reading Promontory by Joan Colby

Who Could Ever Forget? by Lawrence F. Farrar

Hand with a blister on palm
 

A year after the car accident that orphaned Nick, the Bishops picked him up from his grandmother’s for a weekend at Fallen Tree Lake. Saddened by his circumstances, the financier and his wife had taken to including the son of their late groundskeeper in their own child’s outings. They also decided to see to the bright boy’s schooling, underwriting his tuition at a private institution in his neighborhood. That day, the 12-year-olds had rowed across the lake. Harry, chunky with dark crew cut hair, had done the work while Nick, a slim, sun-bleached blond a … Continue reading Who Could Ever Forget? by Lawrence F. Farrar

The Paradox Formation by Mary Pacifico Curtis

Giant rocks in black and white
 

When I was a child, Moab terrain served as backdrop for macho trucks suddenly dwarfed like hood ornaments atop massive mesas, the sun blazing rays from which, within seconds, a Chevrolet logo would emerge. In a photo of Moab terrain, Doug half crouched with his bike on a flat rock precipice, the Colorado River murky in the canyon’s distance below its edge. In the frozen moment, a smile spilled across his face completing the image of energy about to explode into motion. I chose this photo for the cover of his funeral program. A year … Continue reading The Paradox Formation by Mary Pacifico Curtis

Patina by Pamela Sumners

a patinaed six-point star
 

3rd place winner of Streetlight’s 2018 Poetry Contest Patina   The things you forget are the stupid verbal confetti of old love letters, the weight of ancient matters settling the scales of justice around your shoulders like a yoke or a shawl, and it doesn’t matter, because you’re wearing it, for work or for warmth you don’t know. They’ve come to rest there, ploughshares or bodyrags of old words, leaving splinters or growing tattered—it doesn’t much matter. All tales grow old in the telling of them but still are yours, mine, ours, the dazzling, crumbling … Continue reading Patina by Pamela Sumners

An Elegant Variation by Jennifer Sutherland

Large, old compass
 

Jennifer Sutherland is the 1st place winner of Streetlight’s 2018 Poetry Contest   An Elegant Variation One quiet Sunday we drove south on silver-leafed Charles Street, ducked into one of the gingerbread warrens between the university lawns and wondered at the late day’s water-light reflected in the leaded panes, the four-centered arches, the oriels, the pitched slate, and we watched the nannies in their strolling from chimney to chiminea as autumn wound itself toward sleep. As the bricks slid by I catalogued the ghosts of all the lives we might have made but for, and … Continue reading An Elegant Variation by Jennifer Sutherland

mi gemela by Alexandra Mendoza

lit streetlight through the trees
 

2nd place winner of Streetlight’s 2018 Poetry Contest mi gemela i can hear avocado trees in the backyard, the hum of abuela’s sewing machine in the kitchen. the plastic chairs poke the fat of our thighs as we watch telemundo and eat arepas- hours escape us. night ripens and we lie in bed as the street lamps rest on our sabana. both of us not saying: i’m waiting for dad too. Alexandra Mendoza Routt is a native of Miami, Florida who’s taken on the big city to receive her MFA in creative writing at The … Continue reading mi gemela by Alexandra Mendoza

Weather Proverbs, Explained by Ingrid Jendrzejewski

Path through frosted woods
 

Ingrid Jendrzejewski is the 1st place winner of Streetlight’s 2018 Flash Fiction Contest   Mare’s tails and mackerel scales Make tall ships take in their sails. She’s studied the weather and knows about clouds which is why her lips are thin and tight. She does not want to tell him about the promotion. Tonight, she will prepare a nice dinner, but chop the onions too quickly. Blood from her little finger will mingle with Bolognese. When the sky fills with altocumulus and cirrus clouds, a warm front is approaching. Although the day might be pleasant, … Continue reading Weather Proverbs, Explained by Ingrid Jendrzejewski

A Fresh Shot by Emily Larkin

Cocktail on the beach
 

Emily Larkin is the 3rd place winner of Streetlight’s 2018 Flash Fiction Contest ‘I’ll have a shot of anxiety with mint, vanilla syrup, and crushed ice, and a pint of despair. With a lemon wedge.’ ‘That’s a very specific order—you’re obviously a man who knows his drinks,’ the bartender said. ‘Most people order straight off the menu. Are you sure I can’t interest you in a disappointment and bitters on the rocks? It’s the house special.’ ‘No thanks, as you said, I’m a man who knows my drinks.’ ‘Fair enough, one anxiety and despair coming … Continue reading A Fresh Shot by Emily Larkin

Neglect by Julie Gesin

Lamp on bedside table, next to bed
 

Julie Gesin is the 2nd place winner of Streetlight’s 2018 Flash Fiction Contest It’s dark when he reaches home and opens the garden gate, shoulders vulnerable to the pulse of crickets that rattles the garden. Above, the streetlight buzzes, as it always did when they returned home from a play or dinner, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, but always in a state of satiated ease, knowing that all that’s left of the day is the comfort of their bed, the familiarity of each other’s body. He feels her hand in his like a phantom limb. After … Continue reading Neglect by Julie Gesin