by William Householder
Satan stepped out of a costume
as though it was an elevator
flying between heaven and hell and
the soul’s flame retardant fabric of choice; a silence of flutter and honks.
His eyes filled with longing,
the failed thoughts of livered love.
In a rush of smoke, he’s gone.
(Everett Warner, Black Swan, Issue 10, Sherri Grutz, Barricaded Season, Issue One, Daniel Edward Moore, If It’s True We Harmonize, Issue 12, Everett Warner, Black Swan, Issue 10, Bob Putnam, Superman Proposes near the Balustrade Overlooking Brown Pelicans, Issue One, Sherri Grutz, Barricaded Season, Issue One, Kris Price, Silent Bicycling Bob, Issue One)
There’s a brief scream in the forest, and I hold her voice,
crumpled in the wind.
The ash sound of it, quiet violence
Beneath the red, a line of grass.
(Sarah Wright, Gretel, Issue One, Matthew Hemmerich, Paper Boats, Issue One, Katie McClendon, What about the dream where we kissed, Issue 10, Shannon Cuthbert, Crow, issue one, McKenzie Lynn Tozan, BEFORE I TURNED AWAY, THE EVIDENCE WAS EXPOSED, Issue 10)
I wander Wal-Mart at three am for no discernable purpose whatsoever,
and there is the smell of fresh-baked rye.
Fruit scented aroma invaded
my head, feels light and easy,
wind chimes off key.
I know summer smells like Mexico, and it’s always nice.
This heart, so very grateful, remembering nets we sunk,
backs against the cool glass block windows,
the warmth in my granny’s touch.
The way the sun shines, and always, finds its way thru.
(Josh Crummer, I never went camping with the guys that weekend, Issue Two, Tim Stobierski, Main Street, Issue One, Kenny Frame, (Makings of You) Peach Cobbler, Issue One, Sherri Grutz, A Witch’s Day in the Life, Issue One, Shannon Cuthbert, Crow, Issue One, Tara Chantelle Hill, He won’t talk to me anymore, Issue 10, William A. Greenfield, Man Made, Issue 10, Don Illich, Wave, issue two, Athena Dixon, Macerating the Berries, Issue Two, Kenny Frame, (Makings of You) Peach Cobbler, Issue One, Tara Chantelle Hill, They’re All Love Poems, Issue 10)
Having given up his dream of being a pharmacist, William Householder (He/Him) writes instead. A former professional storyteller, current librarian, and avid book buyer, he believes the only way to eat okra is fried in cornmeal. He’s been previously published in Drunk Monkeys, Appalachian Bare, and Flash Boulevard. Be who you are. Love who you will. Come sit at my table.