Rocket Man

I said my goodbyes, turned back to the shore, stopped trying to find you. It took me awhile, took me a few more pink striped skies, a few more mountains, a few more years. But I found my way, wrested my skin from yours, saved myself from going under. I talk to you still, the way we always talked, close and deep without platitudes or pretense. You know I have forgiven you for all the ways you almost took me with you. You didn’t mean to, never meant for me to get swept into your undertow. You tried to stop it but I was desperate for a reason to fade away.

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Cancer Sun Shimmers

Ray Ball is a writer and history professor at the University of Alaska Anchorage. When not in the classroom or the archives of Europe and Latin America, she enjoys running marathons, hiking, reading, and spending time with her spouse Mark and beagle Bailey. Her poems have appeared in  journals such as Alaska Women Speak, Foliate Oak, and NatureWriting.  Cancer […]

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Ethan

Khaen is a writer and science educator. Since earning her doctorate in molecular phylogenetics, she has worked as human anatomy and physiology teaching faculty. Her book of poetry, The Bone Collectors, is unpublished. She lives in Ames, Iowa with her husband and their two children. Ethan From the Hebrew name אֵיתָן (‘Eitan) meaning strong or […]

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