I’m at that point in my life where I need to wake up at least once in the middle of the night. Stumbling through the dark to the bathroom, the street lamp cast a shadow across the table, revealing a yellow envelope.

Dropping the note, I searched frantically throughout the house. Beverly had died exactly one year ago tonight.

Few people actually like me, and one of them keeps mice in a fish tank. It’s my vocabulary. Gulls squawk. Sirens whoop. I use large words. It comes naturally to me. But others just think I’m full of myself, a showoff. My wife’s friend’s husband said he should’ve brought a dictionary along to dinner. He laughed as he said it, but everyone at the table knew. I felt I was back in high school. The adults were thugs in suits and dresses, and the girls covered their mouths when they giggled. There are tumors no mix of chemicals can shrink.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is a professor emeritus at SUNY New Paltz whose newest poetry books, The Dark and Akimbo, are available from Sacred Parasite, a Berlin-based publisher.

I met the man with the train face at a strawberry picking. Where you buy the basket, scatter into the field, pick as many as you like or as will fit. He moved in a straight line, boring ever farther ahead, picking with one hand, then the other, then engineering the basket forward along the ground. When I was beside him, I could feel his breath like steam; his eyes seemed to let out more light than they took in. Full basket, he passed it to his wife. Her face was a station. She handed him a new, empty basket.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

“If Sam took a hearing test today, she’d fail it in the left ear, probably both.” The doctor points to diagrams, talks about adenoids and semi-clear liquid the color and consistency of honey.

In her crib, the sheets are pink, stuffed animals all around.

From Guest Contributor Shane Borrowman

Hank stared at his bloodied hands. Visions of a more peaceful time flashed through his mind, reminders of a life less troubled.

“I guess you’re not vegan anymore.”

“Imagine all of the possibilities!”

While the two women huddled together like old friends, David anxiously anticipated closing on the property, and then watching as the house completely disintegrated in front of his eyes.

When my car flipped in the air, I presumed that was the end, but I was alive, and my wife and daughter were gone.

The heinous drunk driver was brought before the court and his fate will be awaited by my testimony.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

His washing machine breaks down, and he won’t let a repairman into the house, so he’s at the laundromat, after washing his hands six times, adjusting his surgical mask and eye goggles and latex gloves, removing the cover from his steering wheel and dusting the seat before driving; then choosing a machine, seeing some schmutz on it, spraying it transparent, staining his glove, looking up to see his future wife hand him a fresh one from her stockpile of cotton, rubber, and plastic gloves, the surprised man asking, Is that a real hazmat suit? but already thinking, I love you.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Thomas was excited to see Our American Cousin at Ford’s Theatre. President Lincoln would be attending, and he was overwhelmed with contentment that he’d be there on the same night.

That would be the one and only time I’d see Lincoln.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

He’s seeking to please, down on his knees, when everything freezes.

It just goes to show: nothing truly matters, when nothing ever lasts.