By Anna DesLauriers, A small black coffee.At first,Hissing, spitting, scared.Taking charge and taking names.Later on,Playful, tender, young.A crunching machine.A soft roadblock in the hallway. A medium mocha.At first,Timid, learning, loving.Spending time in […]
by Anna DesLauriers. Long isolationBroken up by crashing wavesFuture lies ahead Endless days at homeTrapped in the dusty cornersThe drone of the fan
By David Stankiewicz. To praise you is the desire of man— Augustine again—and who am I to disagree Holding my eight month old At the embered end of a fussy winter afternoon […]
