hot, humid day…
how can butterflies
be bothered
—Tony Williams
curling up in bed
the cold bits
of me
—Tony Williams
hot, humid day…
how can butterflies
be bothered
—Tony Williams
curling up in bed
the cold bits
of me
—Tony Williams
stork’s arrival
the hotel
returns to life
—Eugeniusz Zacharski
barefoot
on the stubble field –
the scarecrow
—Eugeniusz Zacharski
food truck
I know you're not good for me
but I still come back
—Mark Hendrickson
cotton candy
stories are better the way
grandma spins them
—Mark Hendrickson
The third time we saw each other the road was cut with tire tracks through the snow. We walked along either side of one, making sure to get our shoes a little wet and our feet a little cold. We would warm up at the party and sweat through our sweaters and by the end of the night the tracks had been blanketed over again. We retraced our steps back to your house, shoes wet, feet cold, warming up inside. You stopped at the hood of a car on the way and doused me with powder: I would have frozen, if the blood hadn't rushed to my cheeks. At your front door you brushed the remaining sleet out of my hair. It didn't snow so gently again all winter.
a butterfly's
uneven wings
lantana blossom
—Mark Forrester
blue sheen
on the drifting snow
a raven’s shadow
—Mark Forrester
(Last update, May 16, 2026) Email for submissions: journalcoldmoon(at)gmail(dot)com Editors: Timothy Daly, Oana Cercel. ~~~~ You may submi...