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Writer’s Choice

Rebecca Wickens

Agape

Your love wasn’t conditional – It was trapped inside a heart afraid to beat out loud. It was off in the distance.

On My Doorstep

When I unfold the paper there’s what appears to be a bunch of feathers. As I reach for them I discover it’s a bird’s wing.

Firewood

The sand is raked perfectly into lines of dried ravines. Water in the tetsubin, ready for gyokuro.

Post-Mortem

I sigh with the tree. The tears sprout from my eyes, dripping onto the tangled roots beneath.

Kym Nacita Poetry Collection

Lying in bed. I kiss his lips. Trying to taste the ocean I was born into but he is not home. Not even close.

Elevator Pitch

The hypnotic tingling draws her inward. Her mind starts humming a tune she never dreamed of singing.

Dislodging the Hook

My uncle once brought me fishing at his gun club, another family conspiracy to masculinize me. We were deep in what some locals call Swamp Yankee territory…

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Dark hair matted to the little girl’s head. Her lips were dried and cracked; her eyes sunken. Despite her olive-toned skin, she was pale.