With a Little Help From My Friends by Trudy Hale
In the pre-dawn morning, thirty-six hours before my daughter’s wedding, she enters my bedroom. Her flashlight beam wakes me. Good heavens. Half awake, I wonder, is Tempe looking for a necklace? In the dark bedroom, she whispers, “Marcos’s mother didn’t make it.” She’s waking me up to tell me the mother of her fiancé died that morning. Marcos’s aunties reached him in the pre-dawn from Toronto General Hospital. His mother’s unexpected death a day and a half before the rehearsal dinner. I can’t believe it. His mother and I planned to do the “mother’s dance” … Continue reading With a Little Help From My Friends by Trudy Hale
The Eclectic Photography of William C. Crawford
For many years my photography was travel-based, focusing on ghost towns and other places in glorious decline. Decay and rust attracted me because of their fabulous color gradients often found in very spectacular light, mainly out west in the Great American desert. Over time, I also became interested in spontaneously occurring subjects of funky material that might be broadly considered to pass for abstract modern art. Outside travel for me then intermittently morphed into a visit to an outdoor museum. The intensive targeted micro forage of a limited area became my modus operandi. This … Continue reading The Eclectic Photography of William C. Crawford
The Book of Nights by Richard Oyama
My father dulled his surmise. He rang the register, count ‘em Greenback and copper upon the eye. Blue black fell on Harlem. He poured the day into olive canvas bag Pocketed the gun, flicked alarm switch Left the shop, turned key to drag His gloom, eyes hooded, pitch. He drove 125th Street to the bank Parked out front under the trestle. The bag chuted down night deposit, sank. He did it 30 years like a dog deaf to a whistle. Richard Oyama’s work has appeared in Premonitions: The Kaya Anthology of New Asian North American … Continue reading The Book of Nights by Richard Oyama
Candide’s Garden by Susan Shafarzek
Long, long ago when I was young, someone I knew told me how much it meant to her to read Candide. In fact, she read it over and over. It was inspiring. I wanted to say, “Are we talking about the same book?” How could the deep cynicism I’d seen in that book be inspiring? But she was old and I was young, so, instead of arguing, I filed for future reference. Then there’s this story, perhaps a koan, I first heard at one of those self-help meetings so popular in that same era. It … Continue reading Candide’s Garden by Susan Shafarzek
Abroad by Brent Short
We are pilgrims in the earth and strangers— we come from afar and we are going far. –Vincent van Gogh Abroad for some time now following our family’s wishes without much success or happiness. I sense their exasperation, their disappointment growing— soon there will be no tolerance left, even for an eldest son. I prefer not to speak of it except to you, brother. I hold up a mirror to the deep things which pass through me, sometimes flickering, sometimes blazing, always indomitable— feeling no connection to these plans for me. This I freely admit. … Continue reading Abroad by Brent Short
Night, Night Sleepy Heathen by Erika Raskin
So, pretty much every old saw about old age is 100% true. There’s crepitus (the medical onomatopoeia-ous description of creaky joints), and the inevitable geriatric bitch sessions where individualized assaults on the body are compared in groups of two or more, (except, of course for the unmentionable issues which are unmentionable for a reason); and the whole-scale disappearance of words from mental dictionaries (though, thankfully adjacent synonyms seem to hang on longer.) There also seems to be a universal consideration of undertaking the massive Swedish Death Cleaning to free heirs from the unpleasant chore down-road. … Continue reading Night, Night Sleepy Heathen by Erika Raskin
Boxes Left Unchecked by Presley Ackeret
You’ve been using ChatGPT as a therapist a little too much lately. We joke about it on occasion—we’ve lovingly named him “Chad,” you share, chuckling as you do so just to make sure others know that you know it’s silly. Meaningless. Just an offshoot of the word “chat”—something you obviously didn’t put too much thought into, anyway. But every time you scroll past a post or reel poking fun at our bit-too-personal reliance on the AI bot, it scratches just a little deeper than you’d like. You’re not special, you realize. This isn’t hard-hitting. Nothing … Continue reading Boxes Left Unchecked by Presley Ackeret
The Orchardist’s Lament by William Prindle
William Prindle has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2025 Poetry Contest The Orchardist’s Lament If I spent less time in unstructured circumspection and dreadful inference I might remember that circumference is nothing but pi times diameter and I might not have to rue the mismeasurements I make in fencing these apple trees from noisy birds and sneaky squirrels. I might not keep repeating what a dolt to myself as I continue to overlook my own advice and nurse my sore thumbs from recutting and rebending this eighteen-gauge wire, when all these years I could … Continue reading The Orchardist’s Lament by William Prindle
Journal of Absence by Fred Wilbur
If you make a quick on-line search about loneliness in America, you may be surprised that between twenty to thirty-three percent of the population feels lonely every week. There is a myriad of causes for this condition which I am not qualified to delve into as my sociological skills are suspect, but phrases like depression, political angst, feed-back bubble, frustration with technology, uncertainty, isolation, and others, are all thrown around with rabbit-hole parsing. I wouldn’t know where to begin knitting together all the nuance of psychiatric terminology. I have been living alone and thinking about … Continue reading Journal of Absence by Fred Wilbur
A Special Place in Hell by Christine Wilcox
Christine Wilcox is the 1st place winner of Streetlight‘s 2025 Flash Fiction Contest “I’m not doubting you,” the Angel said to the Demon. “But why can’t you just resubmit the application? Surely if she’s as bad as you claim—” “Look!” the Demon said. “She’s melting even more cheese on her pizza.” The Angel watched the woman drop a handful of shredded cheese into the air fryer, where she’d placed a leftover slice of pizza. “Hmm,” he said. “She’s taken care of her body otherwise, though.” He paged through the papers on his clipboard. “Is she lactose intolerant?” … Continue reading A Special Place in Hell by Christine Wilcox