A Tiny And Colorful Literary Journal

Posts tagged ‘Madeline Mora-Summonte’

January

Fairy Dust by Chris Fradkin

“Fairy dust,” my mom said as it floated through the air, sifting upward, all a-spiral—when the winds blew from the rendering plant in Baker.

Chris Fradkin writes from Central California. His work has appeared in Storyglossia, Monkeybicycle, and Thrush Poetry Journal.”

 

 

China Doll by Madeline Mora-Summonte

The plane flamed, then crashed into the lake. Divers discover a singed china doll still strapped in a seat. It’s the only body they recover.

Madeline Mora-Summonte reads, writes and breathes fiction in all its forms.

 

Four pieces by Hannah Thurman

Crushed

The foreman didn’t sound the call loud enough, people said later. But

I knew I’d seen her smile as she walked into the demolition zone.

Going Green

After she left, I threw away her canvas grocery totes and began asking

checkout girls to double bag my toilet paper. Fuck you, sea turtles.

Shrimply Divine

We de-veined them at the sink, waiting for someone to apologize first.

Later, I rubbed a lemon on my hands and hit an unseen wound.

Sand Shimmer

Bits of mica, broken glass, worn down crystals, dirty needles,

aluminum snippets, plastic, change, oil, water, silt. Like many

things, more beautiful from far away.

 Hannah Thurman is a writer living in Brooklyn, NY. She has work

forthcoming in Fiction 365, The Eunoia Review, and The Rusty Nail.

 

 

 

 

Three pieces by Rafi Miller

Yoga-ta Get This Blue!

1 white shirt with yellow armpits to 30 spandex’d sex queens.

She lives in child’s pose, buries her face in her knees.

“Wrong,” says teacher.

You Only Live Twice

For lunch: beer and double-bacon cheeseburger.  Swollen stomach, onion breath.

(He dumped her this morning.  He wants someone less responsible, more reckless).

She orders another.

Romeo & Joliet

“You’re sweet,” she sighed while he kissed her thigh.  “But do you remember my name?”  “Yeah,” he mumbled into her skin.  She didn’t ask again.

Rafi Miller is an almost 21-year old studying plants and bird activity in the Pittsburgh area. Sometimes, she walks through labyrinths and eats gluten-free bagels. Not at the same time, though. She’s working on not multi-tasking.

 

 

Happily Ever After by Gary S. Watkins

His heart–not broken–abscessed

by her words and emotion until it burst. 

His hands clasped her throat,

stilled her voice,

started the healing.

Gary S. Watkins is a middle school teacher living in the Arizona desert. The long, searing summers of Phoenix will almost certainly inspire additional fictions, and not all of them fever dreams.

 

 

 

 

Two pieces by Jessica Fullerton

 Pink Punk

Wearing a hot pink dress in the black-clad crowd, she looked like a Britney Spears fan and not the screamy lead singer of Herniated Disc.

Shiny Dancer

She’s dipped and dappled, with the light reflected on prismatic pirouetting. She’s a fluid shadow in the mirrors, a silhouetted changement, a sun-soaked tour jeté.

Jessica Fullerton is a recovering grad student, happily embracing non-scholarly writing having just finished her master’s thesis. She is also her friends’ My Size Barbie.

 

Two pieces by Jonette Stabbert

Got the Blues for Red

 The freckled fingers of his large hands tenderly touch and stroke.  Heartbreaking sounds follow, accompanied by my tears. How I wish I were his guitar!

  I’m Not Really a Waitress

 Five years waiting tables. The uniform flaunts my fake cleavage. The clientele is very generous.  Soon I’ll have enough saved for my sex change operation.

Jonette Stabbert lives in the Netherlands. She keeps polishing her writing and sending it out.

 

 

 

 

Glass Slipper by Victoria Large

These shoes might crack if she gained an ounce. Shatter if she stamped her foot. They suited the small and demure. They didn’t fit her.

Victoria Large is a previous Nailpolish Stories contributor whose work has appeared in a number of print and online journals, including Blink Ink, Cafe Irreal, matchbook, The Molotov Cocktail, and Wordriver.

 

 

 

 

Three pieces by Chelsea Covington Maass

 Who Needs a Prince?

Beast likes his porridge cold, his lady hot boiled, muy caliente. The world serves Beast what he wants. His lady perfects breakfast wearing red lingerie.

 Motherboy

Stardust wishes and moonbeam dreams illumine her wistful mind: our mother Earth, old as time and round with lava boy. His eminent birth—violent—beckons.

 Art is Hard

But collectors know rough bark beauty leads to sweet center sap:

·         Bore deep hole.

·         Fit spout tight.

·         Collect amber essence of ancient living creature.

·         Consume.

Chelsea Covington Maass lives in Philadelphia and studies creative writing at Rosemont College. You can follow her on Twitter @chelseasfiction

August

Orange Pop by Joanna M. Weston

He’s my rib-tickling, joking Grandpa, who juggles apples, goes sky-high on the playground swings, and has pockets full of orange jujubes – just for me.

Joanna M. Weston is married; has two cats, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Those Blue Shoes’, published by Clarity House Press; and poetry, ‘A Summer Father’, published by Frontenac House of Calgary. Her eBook, ‘The Willow Tree Girl’ at  her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/

Two pieces by Angie Shaeffer

Pinkaboo

Look at that, she thought.  The cut, so bruised and bloody before, turning pink.  Strange, something so painful can evolve into a favorite, pretty color. 

Ginger Passion

Her hair, that’s what always got them paying.  She pranced and sassed like the others, but made sure her curly sienna locks smelled luscious always. 

Angie Shaeffer is a Baltimorean, international educator, and world traveler who recently touched down in New York City.  She finds writing inspiration in everything, including toilet bowls and, thanks to this literary journal, nailpolish colors. 

 

 

Check Me Out by Majnun Ben-David

Temporarily abandoned cart disrupts checkout line, snarky remark ready. Offender revealed as dark beauty, remark shelved. Peace through beauty? No, I’m just shallow he decides.

Majnun Ben-David can be reached at majnunbd@gmail.com and thinks his bio should probably not be longer than his story.

 

Two pieces by Giulietta “Julie” Nardone

Luscious Lips

We could not stop kissing each other’s marshmallow lips in the darkened playground. Entwined bodies wanting more. Oh God, I wish he wasn’t my cousin.

Forest Green

When I regained consciousness, all I could see was green. My body immobilized. Suddenly, a woman shouted, “Help get her out of the trash can.”

Giulietta “Julie” Nardone hails from Massachusetts where she is a creativity activist, writer and karaoke singer. Her stories have been published in The Christian Science Monitor, The Boston Globe, Skirt! Magazine, Underwired Magazine, FlashQuake, Common Ties, Rollins Magazine, and broadcast on NPR. Visit her blog “Take Back Your Life” at http://www.giuliettathemuse.com

Marina Dawn by Charles Rafferty 

She didn’t need to cup her hand around the cigarette. His sails would be useless today. Her feet felt certain as soon as she disembarked.

Charles Rafferty‘s poems have appeared in The New Yorker and The Southern Review, and his stories have appeared in Sonora Review and Cortland Review. His most recent chapbook of poems is Appetites (Clemson University Press). Currently, he directs the MFA program at AlbertusMagnusCollege.

 

Blanc by David Tomaloff

an ignoble vessel. white, girl

shaped. moving over the water

like a ghost,

a ruptured past—

a valediction to days best banished to the sea.

David Tomaloff builds things out of ampersands & light. His work has appeared in several anthologies and many fine publications. He is also coauthor of the collaborative poetry collection YOU ARE JAGUAR, with Ryan W. Bradley (Artistically Declined Press, 2012). Send him threats: davidtomaloff.com

Hopelessly in Love by Madeline Mora-Summonte

Lena hangs her husband’s pants. Straightens collars. Snugs socks. Pretends he’ll wear them tomorrow. She puts the clothes away.

Grief fills the charity bag instead. 

Madeline Mora-Summonte  MadelineMora-Summonte.blogspot.com reads, writes and breathes fiction in all its forms.

March

Green Glow 84 by Nathaniel Tower

Signs warned me, but the glowing green pool sang Siren song. Burned like ocean water on papercuts. I prefer ocean, but radiant green is me.

Nathaniel Tower writes fiction, teaches English, and manages the online lit magazine Bartleby Snopes. His short fiction has appeared in over 100 online and print magazines and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His story “The Oaten Hands” was named one of 190 notable stories by storySouth’s Million Writers Award in 2009. His first novel, A Reason To Kill, was released in July 2011 through MuseItUp Publishing. Visit him at www.bartlebysnopes.com/ntower.htm

 

Birthday Babe by Kim Stump

Balloons deflate beneath pink banners; tears tip her lashes. “Where are they, Mommy?”

 “I don’t know, Sweetie”.

 Ding-dong. We jump, surprised. They’ve come after all.

Kim Stump lives inCharlotte,NC and writes fiction, memoir, and bible studies.

Three pieces by Caroline Coolidge Brown

 Louvre Me, Louvre Me Not

“Does that mean yes?” he asks me. One word can change everything. Whitewash a life submerged in shadows. I give him my Mona Lisa smile.

I’m Not Really A Waitress

Don’t let the grease-stained apron fool you. The Waffle House is not, I repeat, NOT my final destination. ‘Cause, Baby, I’m the next American Idol.

I’m Not Really A Waitress

The eggs congeal and turn cold on your plate as I watch the blood pool on the floor. You won’t call me that ever again.

Caroline Coolidge Brown writes, paints and teaches visual journaling in Charlotte, North Carolina. Bright green toenails make her happy. Check out her artwork at www.CarolineCBrown.com.

 

 

Forget Now by Madeline Mora-Summonte

He sold his mother’s tattered relics at a yard sale. Her favorite ashtray went for fifty cents. His memories weren’t worth much more than that.

Madeline Mora-Summonte (http://MadelineMora-Summonte.blogspot.com) reads, writes and breathes fiction in all its forms.

Two pieces by Annmarie Lockhart

Gettin’ Miss Piggy With It

red glitter against
green lace on white skin,
the sparkles made me do it,
click the photo, hit send
wait for your reply
and smile

Honey Bun

she could have told him
but he would have
thought her vain
so she let him find out
for himself how sweet
she really was

Annmarie Lockhart is the founding editor of vox poetica, an online literary salon dedicated to bringing poetry into the every day, and the founder of unbound CONTENT, an independent press for a boundless age. A lifelong resident of BergenCounty NJ, she lives, works, and writes two miles east of the hospital where she was born.

 

 

Electric Blue by Lisa Nielson

Reflecting off the sand like the clash of every sky, and the beach out of place and for once not the center of the universe

Lisa Nielsen is a single mother trying to balance the mundane with the grooviness of writing.

Two pieces by Mary Struble Deery

 

Clear

Wheeled in, he’s inert, gray and without a pulse. Illuminated like a conductor on stage, Doctor Glass raises his paddles and hollers, “charge, clear, go!”   

Cosmo-Not Tonight Honey

The Russian vodka spill is sticky. Lipstick is smeared. Tripping on her dangling scarf she catches herself before stumbling out the door, into the cold.

Mary Struble Deery fancies herself to be an artist. Not a sculptor or painter, but a “Word Arranger.” She’d prefer playing Scrabble with words. Individual letters, even if they’re Z’s and Q’s, worth a whopping 10 points each, don’t satisfy. Mary worked in the media side of advertising, with numbers and dollars, so never had a chance to unleash her creative side. She’s now making up for lost time. If you want to find Mary, put her keyboard coordinates into your GPS. There you’ll find her fingers flying all over.

Three pieces by Lisa Otter

An Affair In Red Square

He met her at Saint Basil’s Cathedral just after he danced his last Troika. His hair gamboled in a kinky tangle, but she never detected.

Lincoln Park After Dark

Magic Slim’s riffs drift through Lilly’s. The blond messenger guzzles another gin and tonic and waits for the bandleader. Lincoln wants him at the zoo.          

O’Hare & Nails Look Great!

Whenever we knew that someone’s dad was flying out, we’d lie on our backs in G.G. Rowell Park making letters with our bodies. HELLO DAD.

Lisa Otter grew up across the street from G.G. Rowell Park in Lincolnwood, IL and now lives in Charlotte, NC where she dabbles in a great many things including rubber stamping, writing and photography. Her dream job?  Master creator of nail polish colors for OPI.  Check out her newest project, a 365 blog with help from her iPhone, at http://365iphonepictures.blogspot.com

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