Andrew M. Bowen
Andrew M. Bowen has published three short stories and about 130 poems. He is also an actor and was a journalist for about 20 years.
The following work is Copyright © 2022, and owned by Andrew M. Bowen and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
The daffodils’ bright
buds have halfway reached bloom, but
beneath the rain their
yellow heads droop like bridesmaids
sad to attend a wedding.
Thérèse Naccarato is a writer currently residing in Ontario, Canada. When she isn’t typing furiously into her notes app, you can find her ranting about literature, going on walks, and coming up with new recipes in the kitchen. Follow her on Instagram @theresevsbooks or Twitter @thenaccarato.
The following work is Copyright © 2022, and owned by Thérèse Naccarato and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Woke up early. Cocoa Pebbles for breakfast.
They have them in Canada now and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
Mom goes to Michigan because my grandfather is dying.
I stay home and study the Ontario Driver’s Handbook.
Grandpa pulls the doctor close and tells her that he’s run his race. I never really knew him but I know exactly what he means because there isn’t a moment where I don’t feel like I’m running away from something.
I had a dream last night where I got my driver’s license.
I could go anywhere I wanted but I went back to Michigan. My tires whirled down I-75, screeching through those two sharp turns.
Ocean Vuong once wrote that a country is a life sentence.
I can still see America’s horizon from my backyard. It really is that close.
I wonder if the Yorkshire Terrier my grandma had when I was ten ever missed me after she ran away.
I wonder if she knew that no matter how fast she ran, she could never truly leave.