For months, people have accepted the line—a single-file march that curls through the town. No one knows where it ends or when it started; they only know to stay. It stretches a great distance, down the length of Park Street, and disappears over the town’s foggy hills. Tuesday, March 15, was the day the line first formed, although most people are unaware of it. It isn’t the most perfect line, but rather an uncoiled crowd that holds people of all races and ages, growing grayer

And so you grieve Never to let me cede Ever the lasting greed To control your constant needs And so I’d die That future son of mine Would love to imply The only time he’d rest, is the day he’d die And so that’s it The deplorable immoral generational shift The seething teething and misleading miss That apparently rarely unfairly hits Cruelty begins in its search for hurt Surely a kin in this pain getting worse The god of sadness laughs as the tears roll down my cheek And so I

Close and intimate, my roots mingle with those of the pines. Nettles cushion the floor, opening the forest to an unshakable quiet. My leaves brush against my neighbors’ as we sing the song of seasons, harmonizing with each change, loss, and growth that kisses our branches. Oh, to be a tree, a vessel for life’s small creatures who weather the storm as I weather the passage of time. Slow like honey, the forest transforms before me. I watch it grow big, bustling with squirrels s

2. Don’t start where they think you’re going to start. 3. Dance in the puddles when it rains, even if you don’t have rainboots. 4. Break the fourth wall and wink at them like you know what you’re doing. 5. WriTE tHe wAy YOu wAnT tO wRitE, eVeN iF tHEy DisAGReE. 7. Don’t use a system that makes sense to them, or even to you. 8) Read all the books in the world.  You can’t have a story if you follow the rules. 9. Make the most of your unique characteristics.  The world’s too com

Burnt eggs. Turn the stove off. The smell won’t leave. Phone’s ringing––should probably answer. Work. Call back later. Look at time. 7:40. You’re gonna be late. Don’t be late. Again. Work calls. Burnt eggs on a cold stove. I leave. Didn’t lock up. Should––probably. Forgot my bag. Left it, maybe. Betrayed it. I know myself too well. Open doors to indignant hallways. Hasty decisions, indelible punishment. I leave now. Down the stairs, and stairs, and more stairs. Mice still pla