[Image courtesy of Katheryn Holt (c)2016. For more of her work, visit her site.] * * * 202-339-6732. The phone number I found scribbled on the title page of the book I was reading, a Milo Weaver spy novel.  Normally I wouldn’t give it a second thought. Used books often contain jottings from previous readers. The phone number could belong to anyone—a friend, dry cleaner, business contact, call girl—but it had nothing to do with me. My curiosity was easy prey to fantasy, though, immersed as I was in a story of international intrigue. I was strangely tempted to call.   Ridiculous and potentially embarrassing. What would I say to the person at the other end of the line? What reason could I give for calling? Of course, I could just hang up. If he…

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Editor’s Note: We are pleased to bring you this collection of poems about faith, loss, love and growing older. Bonnie’s poetry speaks directly to the reader and reflects on the people and events all around us. Enjoy!   * * * How Do You Comfort? How do you comfort someone who grieves Sorry for your loss Our prayers are with you Sorry Sorry Words fail and sometimes offend Sorry for what? You didn’t give her cancer Cause the car crash You didn’t do anything wrong You didn’t have anything to do with it No Words don’t help They push us away Bury us with our dead Sequester our tears behind polite smiles Thank you for coming Thank you Thank you Touch hurts though hugs and air kisses are obligatory Don’t go there. Just be there…

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Editor’s Note: We’re pleased to bring you the opening chapter from Wayne Hammer’s sci-fi thriller Shifts. The novel weaves elements of genetics and espionage into a story about a man, Michael Duchesne, and the potentially world-changing implications of a DNA mutation secret he’s keeping. If this teaser chapter piques your interest, you can buy Shifts on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. * * * An elderly couple walked within a few feet of the boat slip. The woman slightly rotated her frail body and hunched her shoulders to keep the chilled morning air from leaking in over the collar of her oversized windbreaker. She paused for a moment and then left her husband’s side to stroll toward the edge of the dock. When she got to the railing, she leaned over to get a better look…

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  Angels, Pearls and Mannequins “Neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet…” Matthew 7:6   Each New Year I stop by family graves asking for ease, as if anything they could do would put me on track, and then I drive south:   there, a half-moon, slightly less really, was a half-buck short of a dollar. I thought today would become warmer and make up the difference. There, I would hammock under heaven:   arms stretched back behind my head, gazing at clouds moving across the face of a broken moon on a black Formica sky.   When I needed truth you were honest:   but there’s distance between us. Everyday you slip more new clothes over pearl-dusted mannequins in window displays.   You may have forgotten I…

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THWAP. “Catsup,” Hershel yells. “Is that really too much to ask?” The plate smacks the wallpaper, the meatloaf sticking, the plate crashing to the floor. “Meshuggina,” Judith says. ‘Two year olds, I know two year olds more flexible.” Her chair shrieks like a leaf rake on a blackboard as she shoves backward and thumps out of the kitchen. “What? After all I do and do and do for you, catsup I don’t get,” he calls after the wife. “Had too much onion anyway. You call that meatloaf? Heartburn loaf.” He stares at the slab of meatloaf slithering down the foil paper. Foil paper, Judith put up foil paper. “What, you think this is Florida?’ She walked out on him when he asked; she’s getting expert at it, this walking out. Silver foil. Shlock. Got no…

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