a national online publication of woodbury university

Jim Zola

When My Son Asks Where We Are From From where broomcorn grows, grass to sweep Mother Lee’s shaking under the bluestone, under the trickling sluice of…

Judith Terzi

Seating Arrangement This is no story for hysterical laughter. No Jewish joke of a story where a mother throws herself onto the hood of a two-tone…

Miles Waggener

Make Money by Making a Difference My cracked phone still lets me drive and binge watch my man Beat his opponent until he’s pulled off like…

Jim Zola

The Long Road of the River of Stars In upstate New York it’s snowing again. A man slams the frozen car door with a gloved hand.…

Laura Cherry

Embouchure Taut upper and split lower lip, full and fat as a waterskin, pressed to that mouthpiece or folded in to hide the appearance of desire.…

Karen Greenbaum-Maya

Last Night in Munich I waltzed, as one ought to, on New Year’s Eve, München. My guy’s law school buddies were throwing a party, to Strauss,…

Don Noel

Connubial Counsel Give him credit, she thinks: his first thought is of her. “Alice, are you alright?” “Probably a seatbelt bruise, but okay. You?” “Okay. Belt…