The heart is a broken record, a botched detour, a scallywag, a scab. Mourning does not rescue or provide an exit. The slender apple
The paper-skin woman was begging at the corner, or was she asking? Perhaps it was as simple as hope. How many in the cars
The cracked teacup nested in the pool of rain, gold leaves wicked on its side and across the sodden grass like so many gloves.
Cider Press Review’s inaugural web issue, CPR Volume 14, Issue 1, is now online. Read new work by Aran Donovan, Mercedes Lawry, Daye Phillippo,