The Forgotten Room
In the basement of the old house
where we’d lived for many years,
I found a secret door
to a room I’d never seen before.
Several life-sized dolls were “living” there
seated at a candlelit table
for who knows how long,
like a silent family, entombed.
They stared above bare plates and silverware.
The light flickered on their faces.
As if they’d long expected me,
they stared at me, but never moved.
This was my welcome to the forgotten room.
Open Mic Night
by Marc Alan Di Martino
... I’d launch into my spotty repertoire: / ten-minute Dylan songs, and clear the bar ...
Apples of the Earth
by Melissa Wiley
... What always matters more is the impression that lingers long after the apple has been eaten. What matters for me about any given person or object is the feeling that floats about its edges ...