Golden By Velia Wrinn I don't know anything now. I don't know November. I don't know the people or the places, Or the voices or faces It doesn't feel like home, Not in the way it used to. It...

My image “Bliss” was one in a series of abstract photographs that I created this winter. Inspired by abstract photographer Frances Seward, the subject of my series was glass utilizing natural and artificial...

It’s a smoke and mirrors kind of game Always Running out of roles to play As the spotlight fades So back to love Back to the way it was Back to the city Where I didn’t know your name This...

“Ahhh, you smell that?” Paul asked me. “Smell what?” I replied. “The smell of freedom. That kind of breath you only are able to take on the last days of school. One more year and we’re finally...

Ever since I can remember, I always felt a little different. I saw and felt what was around me, but I couldn’t always express myself. My parents told me that my language was delayed, and I was diagnosed...

Nuclear power plants are designed to run twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Maintaining a power source that relies on radioactive uranium requires competent...

a puppet on a string fraying on one end   slowly breaking out of society’s confinement no longer a product put out on display   the most authentic we’ve ever been and...

In dusk’s shadow, I recall the warm summer rain crying down in drizzling throes. The droplets became just great enough to drum on my grandmother’s naked head and make her nose scrunch with a kittenish...