Stones to Throw

Athina Chernis

When the sounds stop being cars it’s amazing what you’ll hear sounds of the stars the music of the spheres.

When you listen to me what do you hear my quiet voice? Or the words I say clear?

When I walk home the wind whistles in the trees the breeze alone is enough for me.

Do you think I can’t hear the things you say to another’s ears?

Do you think I don’t feel the stones you throw?

Oh, I do, you just don’t know.

The Flower

Gaia Trabuco-Greco ink

A Slice Clarity Samas

It was a tough week. Processing big emotions had me easily distracted at my very high-attention needing job. I was scheduled to take a quick 30 so I sat down, behind a broken-down tractor, secluded on soft green weeds under a tin roof structure. The piece of wood I was whittling was admittedly too small and suddenly the wood fell through my grip and my knuckle was now in line with my very sharp blade. Now what’s left is a sizable scar, coincidentally, in the shape of a heart.

The Woman