Onita Morgan Edwards Clean House I ignored my husband’s wishes by taking in foster children after he died. I wanted to save the world, and while my life wasn’t always rosy, I was obviously in better shape than some…
Browsing: Curated
Eloísa Pérez-Lozano Lucky I stroke the wisps of hair on your head and caress your soft and spoiled skin as you suckle mi seno in our bed to the soundtrack of crickets outside. I think about how safe you…
Janet Garber Baby Love Wet babykisses circle my face, delicious, as in the morning’s almost-rain I walk the track. Through my cottonball ears I hear the swoosh of cars and trucks and a big fire engine chugging its way home.…
Jennifer L. Freed “Have You Locked up the Knives?” In answer to Ms. K, Department of Children and Family Services Staples, thumb tacks, twist ties, tooth picks. The tips of unfolded paperclips. The spirals of wire binding her college-ruled…
Margie Shaheed, Poetry and María Linares, Art Examining Prejudice Procreate Project, the Museum of Motherhood and the Mom Egg Review are pleased to announce the 43rd edition of this scholarly discourse. Literature intersects with art to explore the wonder and the challenges…
Procreate Project, the Museum of Motherhood and the Mom Egg Review are pleased to announce the 42nd edition of this scholarly discourse intersects with the artistic to explore the wonder and the challenges of motherhood. Using words and art to connect new pathways between the academic, the para-academic, the…
Muriel’s Cyclone Kathy Fish It begins with a snowman who catches Muriel’s eye. It begins with Muriel standing at the drawing room window of her tiny home. The winter cyclones, once rare, are now common, fierce as lions. But…
The Return Tara Laskowski Our child was there, and then she wasn’t. A reverse birth, if you will. She was there, and then she went back inside, back to the lava-lamp-like existence, floating, warm, head upside down and skin…
Sparrow Mary McLaughlin Slechta Juanetta passed the abandoned house every year since third grade and paid it no mind. She didn’t pass close because now she was in high school, she walked in the street. But one afternoon, when…
Giving Up on the Professor Julia Strayer Most of us live underground now, which is fine by me. Under the city, under the streets, because that’s the only place safe for now. Scorching temps and fast fires left…