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They stood before the priest and knottedthemselves together with a vowuntil death do us part.And yet, what if the knotstays tight and death isjust an illusionof escape? Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts, Reader’s Digest, US1, and others.Continue Reading

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Do I force it?Do I yank the words to their feet when they are tired and hungry?Do I prime the pump with docile paragraphs, cat stories for work and case studies in my neuroses?Do I trust that the main thing is the meeting itself, woman and words, moon and sea,Continue Reading

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When Lucian, not yet three, puts his hand in mine.I feel such joy–this boyknots his lifeline to minein a faiththat he can lead me to where ever he wants to go,and I in the same perfect grandma faith,take him there. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in PoetryContinue Reading

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Z.B. Wagman is an editor for the Deep Overstock Literary Journal and a co-host of the Deep Overstock Fiction podcast. When not writing or editing he can be found behind the desk at the Beaverton City Library, where he finds much inspiration.Continue Reading

On:

The heavy nightopened her womband the earth was born–a beautiful baby blue and greenheld together withdelicate knots woofedon an invisible loom–swaddling a new star in the universe. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts, Reader’s Digest, US1, and others.Continue Reading

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(with a nod to Rumi)The you I once knew is tied up in a basement. It’s dark and cold and isolated from view. When I illuminate your body, with a candle’s flicker, and the knots that bind you to that sturdy wooden chair, I can’t let myself stay too long.ThisContinue Reading

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She stared at me with her marble eyesand knotted my heart so tightit turned to splintered stone—pieces pierced my souland turned it as well.Then—now, I am alone–unmarked graniteabove a grave not yet dug. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, RememberedContinue Reading

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The dark nightstreams filaments of her indigo curlsacross the frosty sky.Embellished with stars,loosened locks showerthe late evening with tiny interwoven knotsthreading the curved dome tightly together. The translucent plaits seem to shiverin the crisp air. I walk home not minding my path— look up– watch,waitfor one to unravel or toContinue Reading

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My muses have amusing waysof teasing me on silent daysby giving me no words to writeuntil I try to sleep at nightthen hide the notepad I keep nearand dry my pen so that no tearof ink will cry upon the page,thus leaving me a nightmare’s ragewhich twists my dreams inContinue Reading

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My stepson only eats hamburgersand fries. And chicken nuggets.Nary a vegetable or piece of fruit. And whydoesn’t he get scurvy and die? He never goes outside. Zeroexposure to the sun. Just stays in his roomplaying video games all day. And whydoesn’t he get rickets and die? Just look at hisContinue Reading