Broke

Bills. They stacked up like a child's art project on the kitchentable, each stamped red with the word "overdue." The house wascrumbling down, the wallpaper peeling off every panel. The wallstrembled as the couple screamed at each other. Blame flew likehousehold objects; lamps, chairs, and plates.

They stormed off in a huff to the same bedroom, facing away from eachother, their faces too hot and hearts beating too hard to sleep.

So they stayed awake, until the sunlight streaked in through thebroken blinds and the couple was ready to start the routine overagain.

From Guest Contributor Artie Kuyper

Suffrage

I clear the breakfast plates as a dutiful wife, while my husband, Robert, legs crossed, newspaper in hand, clears his throat and faces me.

“Are you seriously considering going to the parade, Grace?”

“Not considering, I’m going,” I say and slam the cabinet door, dishes rattling.

“There’s no reasoning with you,” he says and leaves the room.

I want more than keeping a home and obeying Robert’s commands. I want the freedom to choose.

I hold my head high, grab my “Women have the Right to Vote banner,” and walk out the door to Fifth Avenue to make a difference.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

My Nana's Custard Tarts

Reflected by the low sun, her chair cast almost mechanical shadows.

Her milky waxy eyes somehow still sparkled.

She chuckled and a few chins flapped like defrosted chicken skin.

I sat pinned, and listened well.

So she told me about custard tarts.

"A good custard tart is rare you know, but you know when you have found one, the pastry is shorter than a long weekend, but as flaky as a veteran hippy! The filling, lovemaking of newlyweds, egg and vanilla, on velvet sheets of cream, complete with nutmeg confetti."

We both sat grinning at the crumbs on our plates.

From Guest Contributor Christoctopus