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Showing posts from February, 2017

Matthew Borczon

Souls (1) hard to dispute the logic of a 5 year old Eliza wakes up shaking crying she calls my name she is afraid of dying again this feeling swallows her like a hand inside a pocket. (2) As I hug her I stroke her hair and give her the Catholic answers my parents gave me at her age don’t worry it’s a long long way off and when it does happen I will be waiting with grandpa and all your family Eliza’s voice breaks “Daddy I’m the youngest so I will have to be alone for so long” I think she cries her weight in tears. (3) I can only hold her feel scared I know alone it has ridden my shoulder daily since the war I know fear of death I have held a dead child’s body and handed it back to its father I know fear of life after war fear for men without legs or arms fear of my own life without faith wit

Sheldon Lee Compton

Bakadewin (Hunger) The Wendigo stood to be seen in its full form, the emaciated body, skin so flecked and brittle it could peel open in a breeze, the ribs a resting canopy across its middle, its legs little more than a jutting tangle of pulsing veins. In its hand was the swirling ball of the earth. Its eyes were sad, a vivid green against the stygian backdrop of the universe. And though its eyes shined sadness, the mouth was a horrible circle of tongue and teeth, the insides slickened wet. Yawning, it stretched its boney jawline to breaking and revealed the depths of its throat throbbing with life, anticipation. It was as if the mouth cried separately to be nourished, like an infant trapped inside the face of a monster. In one blurring gesture, the Wendigo cupped its meal with shredded fingers and gave a long, sepulchral wheeze. The earth did spray like stardust resplendent light from its mouth and was gone. Sheldon Lee Compton is the author of three books, most