Have You Seen My Trowel?

I imagine archaeologists to be a rugged lot. Thick-soled boots like the treads of earth-movers, caked in ancient and illuminating grime. Wide brims and handkerchiefs and mirrored sunglasses to guard against a bully-sun cracking its knuckles. Scrapes and bruises; dehydration and sunburns; fingertips raw, knees creaking, eyes gritty and red. And pockets. Lots of pockets. […]

Blood Moon Rising

Crisp and white, bars of light crept across the bedroom floor. I sighed and lifted the covers, awake after crawling to bed and not sleeping for five hours. I slouched to the window and lifted a slat to see a fullish moon hanging above the rooftops, washing out the imperfect glow of street lights lining […]

Metrical Friday: Lost Childhood

Lost Childhood By: David Ignatow How was it possible, I a father yet a child of my father? I grew panicky and thought of running away but knew I would be scorned for it by my father. I stood and listened to myself being called Dad. How ridiculous it sounded, but in front of me, […]