Seen Her Before – Jake Guiswite

There was something about the way she

Sipped her cocoa

Nudged her chair


That told me I’d seen her before

Maybe I’d ask her her name

Say hello

Just to know

Where I’d seen her before

Then I remembered

I’d said hello

Years ago

Knew her name

She’s the same

We’d sipped cocoa here before

Stepped through that door

Exchanged kisses

I’d asked her to be my Mrs.

We’d planted a garden

Browsed for a gnome

Then she soiled our garden

And left our home

I remembered I’d seen her before

But not again.

Humans of CD – Post 1 – Brennan Conway

“So right now my family is taking care of a puppy that’s being trained as a service dog. His name is Bodia, but we call him Bodie. His whole litter was named after Olympic athletes, since they were born during the summer Olympics. wp-1485144319652.jpg

His training is going well! He responds to vocal and hand cues for a variety of tasks aimed at helping disabled people. But he has bad habits too, like digging holes in the yard, tracking mud into the house and playing with logs from the fireplace. He also eats just about anything that falls on the floor.

However, we all still love him and the best part is we get a loveable companion for 18 months; the only one in the house that doesn’t like the dog is our obese cat, Chunkers. Chunkers wasn’t named after an Olympic athlete though.”


Reflected – Gari Eberly

Amber thicket reflected in the pools of her amber eyes

dart left

dart right

– there –
a sliver of something silver, unnatural:
death in a worn orange jacket.

Thick snow around her ankles drags her down,

covers her in a shivering blanket of icicles and frost,

clouds her vision and blocks her path.

In front of her, a barricade,
constructed from dead
branches and bramble.
Behind her, an open door.
In his hands, a key.
Turns around, too late.

Wrought lightning pierces frigid air, screeching, screaming, arching through the broken sky like a

Too late.

Her knees hit

and the rest of her body


A heap on the ground:
a mound of tawny clothes
abandoned on the roadside.
And in that moment she remembers:

Matted velvet fur, bloody, scrapped, tree trunks and crowned kings. The smell of cloves and wild-flowers and the taste of crisp apples between her stout teeth. Drinking up water from the dewy grass and resting in damp beds of leaves during a rainstorm, but the water is scarlet and leaks out of the corners of her eyes and




The crimson waterfall slowly

dries up.


closer        closer       closer

   then silence.

He rips, tearing through the bloody flesh like the arrow tore through the sky and sees himself

reflected in her dull onyx eyes.