Tup. Tup. Tup. * The sound would go on outside as I sat and devoured the beauty of her innocent face and svelte body. The best time ever was always after the rain, with our garden roses as if reanimated with new watercolor. * We could both sense the ecstasy of the tall trees, with [...]

morning skies yawn nudged awake by a new sun . . . call in the clouds ____________________ Salvatore Buttaci is an obsessive-compulsive writer who plies his craft many hours a day. His poems, stories, articles, and letters have appeared widely in publications that include New York Times, U. S. A. Today, The Writer, Writer’s Digest, Cats [...]

A breeze catches the ruffled petticoat of a peony, carrying its scent like the perfume of a lover on the warm summer air. ____________________ M. Elaine Moore is a fiction writer and poet. She has written one novel and is at work on another. Her work can be seen at Foliate Oak Literary Journal, Four [...]

In this house even the bathroom’s a place of no peace. * I huddle there Sundays enthroned with whatever they’ve left of the paper. * Off the door, the great blitz: rubber balls, little fists, soles of bare feet. * Unamused, still perusing, I sit there refusing to vacate my sanctum. * Blitz your bare [...]

You couldn’t just drop in her room like that. You had to knock and she’d put you off, the time to vanish grandfather’s things and pretend to be the happiest widow around. * Though my grandfather was three years dead grandmother kept his slippers warm by the fire, cleaned his bed and pillow every morning [...]

He walked away and a lifetime evaporated. His goodbye kiss left like nectar on her lips. ____________________ M. Elaine Moore is a fiction writer and poet. She has written one novel and is at work on another. Her work can be seen at Foliate Oak Literary Journal, Four and Twenty Poetry, The Camel Saloon, Fifty-Word [...]

hidden in sky scapes of fluffy white animals . . . God’s face in the clouds ____________________ Salvatore Buttaci is an obsessive-compulsive writer who plies his craft many hours a day. His poems, stories, articles, and letters have appeared widely in publications that include New York Times, U. S. A. Today, The Writer, Writer’s Digest, Cats [...]

The way I walk these days the tips of my soles and the edge of my heels wear out too fast for a man with children. * So I tell Rocco, cobbler nonpareil, “Tack on four steel cleats, two in front, two in back” * so I can walk home between two full shopping bags [...]

war and famine leave hearts heavy with sorrow birds sing anyway ____________________ Salvatore Buttaci is an obsessive-compulsive writer who plies his craft many hours a day. His poems, stories, articles, and letters have appeared widely in publications that include New York Times, U. S. A. Today, The Writer, Writer’s Digest, Cats Magazine, The National Enquirer, Christian [...]

When it’s break time the girls all walk together, cigarette-protector cases clasped between their index * tapers and their thumbs. On each girl’s fingers glow iridescent lacquers. When break time nears, * they peek at each other, twinkle, giggle, nod. When break time comes, a bell rings and the girls rise * like Lazarus. High [...]