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There is nothing grandma wants morethan a little pace. She mutters in Italianfor Our Lady Madonna Mia to give her some then sighs over the tagliatelle she cut that morningfrom the flattened dough, yolk-tinged stripsfloured and arranged on the coarse white cloth she’s laid out on her tall bed soContinue Reading

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Everyone else has finishedand left the table,gotten on with their lives,but Connor has falleninto the black holethat is turkey cutlet night;he is stuck to his chairuntil he finishes,or dies,or has to go to bed,whichever comes first. He is alone with the enemy,and no plan of attack.His plate is an ominousContinue Reading

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I am the daughter of immigrants and grew up in a small community in southeastern Louisiana. I am a freelance digital and traditional illustrator. Although mostly specialized in Children’s Illustration, I enjoy working in a variety of prose and art styles. My work features diverse characters with a range ofContinue Reading

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Charlotte sits on the bottom stair,small legs swinging, as her sistersets the box of crayons beside her,right within reach, all those temptingrainbow points. Ella’s face, closein hers, insists: “You must neverever crayon on the walls.”Charlotte nods seriously.Never ever. Afterwards, Charlotte sits on the couch,small legs swinging, as her sisterhelps theirContinue Reading

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A girl scooped up a caterpillar and put it in a mason jarwith some dirt and grass and leaves.For a week it pedaled around aimlessly and then stopped.For another week the girl left the rigid fluffy circle segmenton her window sill. She tried to figure outwhy the caterpillar died butContinue Reading

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She walked barefooted each step grazing the sinking sand, her sandals hung over her shoulders with the support of her clumsy hand, holding a plastic bottle in the other. She walked past a couple smiling into each other’s eyes, hands intertwined, shoulders slightly brushing. She could tell they were obliviousContinue Reading

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The substitute teacher made another attempt at my name. I’m not paying attention and I miss it. He’s wearing a vest. There is a stain on his vest. After roll call, he singles me out. “Miss DuckArmy, I called your name twice.” Maybe there was mustard on his breakfast sandwich.Continue Reading

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On a rickety dock that juts out into an Adirondack lake, my father, a big man, turns around so abruptly that he bumps me into the cold water, and I’m face down and so fascinated with the sand that I don’t think to breathe. I’m three years-old, and the lakeContinue Reading

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You better not runGrandmother says. Off they go like firetruckssounding the alarm with wild laughteras they tear down the hallwaywith grandmother behind chasingwith her heavy steps after their light onesroaring like a dinosaur Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, RememberedContinue Reading