“Sicilian Asphalt Company” by Joe Polacco

Brooklyn, summer 1957 Dogs pant for cool shady shelterAs asphalt bubbles the hood’s streets.Yet some do not flee helter-skelter:Stygian Sicilians in black and cerise They’re a valuable immigrant classRefugees from a volcanic vendettaWho form their own Sicilian caste:Ejecta from the loins of Mamma Mt. Etna Stygian Sicilians, dark dialect unknowable,Spread tar o’er steaming street’s surfaceSmoothing out its bubbles…

“THE ENCOUNTER” by Sharmini Rogers

I was driving down the countryside enjoying the summer tranquility and beauty.  The sunflowers were blooming giving the fields a hue of gold.  The sight reflected my joy and tranquility.  All of a sudden out of nowhere I saw a deer trying to dash across the road in front of me.  I automatically braked.  Thank…

“The Waiting Room” by I.V. Greco

“Go to the 12th floor,” the silver-haired elderly woman at the information desk said. “Use the elevators in the very back. It will be quicker.” I thanked her and made my way through the main floor, passing a gift store, a coffee shop, a cafeteria and other boutiques. The hospital has certainly changed since I…

“Alone Vs. Lonely” by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Many people dislike being alone, but I am not one of them. I enjoy my solitude. I wake up each morning, anticipating being by myself. Upon arising, I attend to my regular morning routine. It begins with me taking a shower, getting dressed, drinking coffee, and eating breakfast. While I nourish my physical body, I…

“My Greatest Blessing” by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

“God loves you very much. He is the one who found the way to awaken your soul.” A woman I met at my mother-in-law’s apartment on my recent trip to New York told me after hearing my Bible Taboo story in the Barnes and Noble thirty-five years ago. Lost for words, humbled, I smiled in…

“Original Homestead” by Duane L Herrmann

My working life was done, I now had the time and money for this trip. I’d waited a long, long time.  I was now a grandfather as I stood at the intersection of two roads marking the corner of a section of land that once was the homestead claim of my great grandfather over a…

“Things of Wonder” by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Have you ever walked the street of the Old City in Jerusalem? I have. It was an unforgettable experience that left me humbled and filled with awe. The Temple Mount, a House of God in Hebrew, is part of the Old City. It reaches up into the sky at 2028 feet above sea level and…

“The Face of Family” by Debbie Cutler

I stare at a picture of my Dad and his great-granddaughter amazed at the connection I feel in the portrait. Dad, in his wheelchair, with his dementia, appears to be staring at her in awe. Kayleigh, just more than a year old, stands in front of him, pacifier in her mouth, holding a deep gaze…

“Pleasure” by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Little things that make me happy come to mind when I think of pleasure. To be fulfilled, I do not need much. The blossom of a flower, the sound of light summer rain hitting the roof of my house, the rainbow in the sky, and the touch of wind on my face make me grateful….

“The One and Only Real True Santa: A Memoir” by Barbara Leonhard

1 I was eager to attend the annual church Christmas party in the fellowship hall. The candy, cookies, and carols. The beautiful tree with lights, tinsel, garland, and gifts.  “Are we going to see the real Santa there this time?” I asked Dad, who was the pastor.  “Of course! There’s only one Santa.” Each year…

“The Sound of Silence” by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Our body lets us know what we can and cannot no longer do as we age. We often ignore those signs because, in our minds, we are forever young. So, when a weekly prompt was posted in my writing group: If you had to lose one of the five senses, what would it be? I immediately thought…

“The Keramos: A Hoarder of Memories” by Etya Krichmar

Every morning, when I enter this room in the house, an ochre-colored ceramic jar catches my attention. It sits on the desk to the right of my computer in my favorite writing room. I call it my sanctuary. I am a story weaver, and I meditate before writing. The sweet aroma of the incense tickles…

“Daddy Comes Home From Angelo’s Coney Island, Flint, Michigan” by Karen Paul Holmes

My sister reaches into her suitcase for the chilidog sauce: a gift to me more rare than a ’59 Buick. Today in Atlanta, it’s Michigan weather, cold and dull, darkening at dinnertime, like when Daddy would arrive from work, brushing snow off his tweed coat. Once he brought us leftovers from the jukebox. In the…

“Success” by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

What is success? One question, many answers. Most use more than one sentence to describe success because what defines it is not as simple as it seems. The allegation “one size fits all” cannot be applied to the definition of accomplishment. Ask one hundred people what success means, and be prepared to hear one hundred,…

“A Stroll Through the Park (ca. 1961)” by Joseph C. Polacco

This selection is from Joe Polacco’s new book, Brooklyn Joe and Sal—Two Bensonhurst Boys (A memoir and tribute to Salvatore La Puma).   While walking along a bucolic path I was met by some angry young people Could I assuage their strident wrath With words of wisdom, in no way feeble?   Later I asked,…

“Ukrainian Wedding” by Etya Vasserman Krichmar

Once upon a time, when I was fifteen, I attended a traditional Ukrainian wedding. It occurred in a small village nestled in the heart of the mysterious Black Forest of the Carpathian Mountains. I remember, one day, as I was locking the door to my apartment, my neighbor Luda, who lived adjacent to our place,…

“Your Mom’s Pinto” By Elizabeth Yanders

I remember your mom’s Pinto being dull brown. The perfect color to go back and forth to the grocery store or putter around town. A rather conservative hue that never exceeded the accepted speed. A polite enough shade, really, to meet up with friends for French onion soup and spinach quiche. But on the weekend,…

“My Name is Veva” by Christine Bialczak

My name is Veva. I was a mother of two, but my son is dead. That sounds harsh, but it feels harsh, so I don’t want to make it sound okay. I am still a mother of two, but I have this big hole in my heart and soul, and I know it will never…

“Cold Storage” by Terry Allen

You want to see your father, my mother said, as both a statement of fact and a question. My brother said no, and I said yes, after all, I’d flown over 2,000 miles to be there, and so we waited outside a gray door until we were allowed to enter a larger room than I…

“Where Shall We Go” by Dawn Pisturino

Where shall we go since the old home place is gone? Mama’s gone, and papa’s gone; All the little children have long-since grown And live in the city with children of their own. Tell me, where shall we go For birthdays and Christmas and Sunday stew? Grandma is gone; the recipe she knew For blueberry…