zuzanna mlynarczyk

Shroom

zuzanna mlynarczyk

melina iavarone

Setting aside the tears and frustration I can vaguely remember the smell of fresh air But the memory of suffocation Tells me, “don’t you dare”

Only God Himself could stop me From abandoning this dreadful place I’d like to be where the sunshine meets the sea Want to race?

But now the sun is hanging by a thread It will drop and shatter, wherever it lands I think I’ll wrap my fingers around it instead Though I’m afraid it will burst inside my hands

Is a risk a photograph? I’ve taken far too many But fear is what holds us hostage And believe me I’m no inmate.

Westcott & Dell, 4:32 P.M.

Cade Kaminsky

At least that’s what my watch read While I waited for the bus I knew was Going to be late yet again. Across the street, I saw two boys Pluck pure, unfiltered snow From the filthy ground and stride over to New Garden Chinese Takeout (NGCT). With a fling of the door, the duo Hurled the ammunition without Mercy or warning into the shop Before making a not so swift getaway, As the second boy slipped in the ice. He wasn’t hurt. He ran on, patting his ass I laughed, heartily, at the boys’ mischief and Low-level delinquency born of Mutual chaos and the need to have a good laugh. When the Madam proprietor of the Joint came out, calmly and icily, phone In a blue otter box in hand, I shouted “Hey! The shits went down there.” from across the way. She took snapshots of the fleeting flyers And went back to assess the damage. Even as the cold air scraped at my cheeks, I felt some weird warmth playing both sides.

The man who waited with me at The bus stop looked almost shocked At the visible pleasure on my face From my endeavor, almost incredulously, and With a hint of disdain and judgment. This, of course, being the same man who Mere moments later stuck his freshly-lit Newport on a potted plant.