My Grandmothers Write Through Me

by Hannah Mitchell Writing always feels like a seance at my desk. The souls of my foremothers rise, Curve, twist themselves through my pen. (They demand I write in pen.) (There will be no erasures.) Let me introduce my hand-me-down heart: At its core, a lamp trimmed With cast-off buttons. (My grandmother's mother couldn't write… Continue reading My Grandmothers Write Through Me

This is Only a Drill

by Candice Kelsey Today, we are ordered into total lockdown. I tell my students to cluster away from the doors, Avoid direct visibility of scope & crosshairs. 12-gauge semiautomatic shotguns, Glock 20s rarely miss. Their assignments become locking doors, stacking Desks in barricade, turning out lights. I would gladly, without any hesitation, take A spray… Continue reading This is Only a Drill