Nonfiction

I am NOT scared of the dark.
The soupy inky blackness hardly phases me.
Monsters under the bed?
Pu-lease
Creepy spiders in the covers?
Borr-ing
Electric tentacles of death swooping inside 

God Is Love.
Love Never Fails.

May 17, 1954, was a day to celebrate.
Finally the government had come to its senses,
declaring segregation of public schools unconstitutional.
It’s was new era where people of color had a chance at an equal education.

Perhaps this was inevitable, so flawed and warlike are we, though I beg any intelligent species who may find this to heed my words: Do not allow yourselves to be overcome by greed, hate or anger; live in peace as we could not.
 

Mary Veracka

The wind blows through my helmet into my ear. The swift push of the broken bar gets heavier every time like someone’s stuffing hand warmers in it. I rotate my skis and poles, hoping not to get them stuck under the chair.

The wind blows through my helmet into my ear. The swift push of the broken bar gets heavier every time like someone’s stuffing hand warmers in it. I rotate my skis and poles, hoping not to get them stuck under the chair.

One winter afternoon I was sledding with my family out on our hill. We had been at it for long enough that our cheeks had gotten rosey and our fingers slightly numb.

Shovel, shovel, shovel all we do is shovel. Winter in Vermont means lots of hard work in the cold, it also means having fun.

Our last presidential election was four years ago. I remember clearly what happened on the morning when the winner was announced. I was 10 years old, but I already knew how much was at stake.

                I bit the inside of my cheek as I shivered in the cold, my arms wrapped snugly around my double layered middle.