Death At Ocracoke Inlet
He did Blackbeard’s bidding, knew the ocean, and land that rose from it like a seasoned crop,
Carolina Lover
Livening together in the blueberry house’s multiform sun, leaf shadows scattered on the bed, two records playing at once
A Pair of Poems By Marty Weil
Girls with empty milk pails do a lively waltz along Biltmore Avenue to music set in duple time
Pennies From Heaven
by Shelby Stephenson Louis Prima: Keely Smith: Call of the Wildest − & − Jump, Jive & Wail: Scat, soul, humor: real, like The Witnesses Riffing at the butcher shop of Louis’s pop
Wedding Ballad
by Jesse Morales He came to the orchard barbecue packing fruit and poison -- pocketfuls of dubious berries leaking blue, two raw sweetgreen pomes budding on his face --
Carolina Dusk
by Sally Burnette Barefoot on dark, damp grass. Glassy insects catch ochre light in fragile wings and scatter it across pale, young ankles
A Summer Sunday In My Childhood
by Ross Cavins A typical Summer Sunday in my childhood … Seventy degrees and sunny, a puffy white cloud here and there. Afternoon softball games with relatives in the oversized front yard. Children and grown-ups play without perspiring, The aroma of honeysuckles strong and sweet in the warm air. Fun is everywhere; The newly cut thick green carpet of centipede grass spongy beneath our feet, The freshly oiled leather gloves soft in our hands, The crack of the bat and a friendly scream to run, A bright laughter dancing in everyone's eyes, Sweet tea with ice cubes and tart lemon wedges sweating in old jelly jar glasses. Afterwards, the charcoal is doused with lighter fluid from a squeezy metal can, Salad is tossed with store-bought iceberg lettuce, garden-grown juicy tomatoes, Julienne carrot strips, hot-tasting radishes, slivers of green and red bell peppers, Slices of vine-ripened cucumbers. Hamburger patties are lumpy, hand-made with Worcestershire sauce and ketchup and Onion soup mix and minced garlic. Placed on the grill when it's hot enough to sizzle, Grease-fed orange flames engulfing them with hisses of smoky flavor. The ice cream maker is plugged in and filled with milk and sugar and Vanilla extract and mashed bananas, surrounded by rock salt and ice and Running like a sputtering outboard motor. Buns are toasted with pats of real butter