Dominique

Stories

The Love of Dead Roses

By Serenay Ozkan Lead distilled from the sky, a cool stain upon my brow, As the hearts of roses beat, the vessel trembles now. Neither the slumber of the wind nor of the sea, A single verse; a leap across a thousand years of darkness to be. Silence fluttering its wings in a quiet grave, A great, shadowless coffin, gasping in the earth’s nave. In every broken bone, a hidden sun would rise, O, True Owner of all Realm; lull us back to sleep where…

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Tasting the Vanilla: (De)Cyphering Beyonce’s A Woman Like Me

By: Anamitra Bora If I thought too long about the vanilla exploding in my mouth mingled with salted caramel, sticky toffee, and brownie and bound to the conjunctive lyrics of Beyonce’s A Woman Like Me, I would abdicate the primacy of words on pages, let myself dissolve into prosody, and embrace a sort of “diva-ism” akin to a peacock: a mating call, a dazzling act, a spell that bewilders and traps. The fragility of kinship spills to the songs we are sometimes attracted to, both…

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The Pitchfork

By E.P. Lande

Over the years, we have agreed to stable other peoples’ horses, generally horses belonging to those working for us, or horse owners we know who are in need of temporary boarding, as we operate the farm for our personal enjoyment.

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The Day I Remembered My Soul

By Nolo Segundo When I was 24, I killed myself. I put it that bluntly because it was not an attempted suicide, a cry for help, but a decision to self-murder. Yes, it was a desperate act, a last attempt to escape what my mind feared as lifetime imprisonment in a mental asylum [they still did that back in the early ‘70’s]. It was even, in its own way, logical– to my then agnostic mind at least. I had been suffering a profound clinical depression—the…

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A Stroudsburg Story (pt. 3)

By Elissa Greenwald

Jeanette hadn’t been to group therapy for four months, Kelly realized when she did her quarterly review of patients’ records. The young woman was so quiet in their sessions that Kelly hadn’t realized how many Jeanette missed. Kelly had worried about her ever since Jeanette called to tell her she was in the hospital with a rattlesnake bite. She felt guilty since, against regulations, she had driven Jeanette to the trailhead. She offered to visit her in the hospital but Jeanette said…

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A Stroudsburg Story (pt. 2)

By Elissa Greenwald

Sunlight flashed in Kelly’s eyes as she drove home. The bright light reminded her of the summer.  She thought back to how she had met Carl.

It was the first time she had placed a personal ad in the Pocono Record, after answering ads led to a miserable series of dates from which

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