Prose
Socks of the Sun
The first light of morning always found Nani before anyone else in the house did. Not because the sun favored her — though some would swear it did — but because she rose quietly, as if waking a sleeping world required gentleness. She would sit by the window, knitting needles tapping in a rhythm older than any clock, her yarn glowing gold even before the sky agreed to brighten.
By Jhon smithabout a month ago in Poets
“Payday Panic, Living Light”
Panic Flame Suite: Two Versions, One Sovereign Flame This is not just a song, it is a dispatch for the towers of money the rich build and the pennies the poor grab as the that is all that trickles down are pennies to poor.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a month ago in Poets
The Old Woman and the Upside-Down World
The Old Woman and the Upside-Down World She woke late, her body heavy with illness, the kind that even makes breathing feel like labor. The holiday had passed quietly, but its ache arrived late, creeping into her morning like a shadow.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 months ago in Poets
