Clinging To Hope

The crew is swept out to sea by the powerful waves. I hear their screams as they are drowning, and it’s haunting. The captain died by a blow to the head and it’s every man for himself. I jump into the deep ocean and grab onto a piece of debris. As I’m floating, I hear distant cries of the men still onboard the ship. They are sinking and clinging to the railing. I’ve known these men for years. I hold on tightly and pray.

In and out of consciousness, my head is weary, and my stomach growls.

Help will come.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

It’s Not Me, It’s You

You hear the thin cries of a drowning man. You notice that seemingly innocent words like “today,” “yesterday,” and “tomorrow” have been censored. You pick quarrels with the baggers at grocery stores. You try but fail to ignore the prevalence of right-wing militias, foreign movies dubbed in English, shark sightings. You prefer baseball to football and a medically induced coma to either. You wonder what it’d be like to suffer a gunshot. You have a recurrent dream you’re lost in an old abandoned warehouse, usually with a friend you had growing up whose brother played Russian roulette once too often.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.

Melodious Birds

Erik sat silently in the small attic, fatigued, and his legs aching from being crunched together in the confined space. His father had told him to stay quietly hidden until the birds chirped.

Before the gunshot, his mother screamed. His father yelled a profanity, then he heard another gunshot and muffled his cries.

As Erik awakened, the birds sang. He slowly opened the creaking door and went downstairs.

In the kitchen, his parents bloodied bodies laid on the floor and a Nazi soldier stood against the wall.

“Ich habe gewartet.” I’ve been waiting.

A gun was aimed at Erik’s head.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Blessed Curse

Near dawn a rooster crowed.

“Mary died,” the midwife said, “I couldn’t save her, but you have been blessed with a baby boy.”

John pounded the table with his fist and with a heave, overturned it. The cup and saucer clattered to the floor while the wails and cries of an infant traveled from the other side of a closed door.

“God why did you take her?” he keened.

The midwife returned from the other room and placed the tiny child into his arms.

John prayed the baby would die. His life would be worthless without Mary. Damn the child.

From Guest Contributor Catherine Shields

Never Forgotten

The eerie sound of rumbling and cries coming from the street as the day turns clouded with dust and debris.

Sirens blaring, chaos ensuing. A day of sadness and a city coming together in the face of tragedy.

The memory of falling angels and blackness in lower Manhattan as firefighters run to help the innocent.

Seventeen years later, the depth of emotion still consumes our souls.

Names read every year on the day, by a weeping family member.

Sleepless nights and sorrow for family still waiting to hear if their loved one’s remains are found, never forgetting September 11th, 2001.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher