I Remember the Night Peaceful(For my Aunt, that she finds peace). I remember the night peaceful before it broke,before the constellations cracked and splitin empty, white-blue shards, fogged up with stars,and the dark dripped in through the runny seams. When You slipped away, left us with nothingbut a phone call. And my uncle made thatat…
Author: SHARE
Mom, written by Nina Eddinger
Mom always smelled like that sticky brown stuff that caked on the bottom of her pink purse. Sometimes, when she would lean in so close that her hair would brush across my cheeks, I could smell the stuff in the little bottle she sprayed on herself. That smelled like flowers. She didn’t usually hug me….
3 Poems, by Rc deWinter
being feet swathed inseaweed sitting at the edge ofthe sea Ishiver in the cold Aprilwind gazing at stars they mock me a singer withouta song adancer withno partner a soldierwithout a weapon but the seasings for me the wavesconstruct afortress roundmy feet and in this safe placeI have no need of a weapon the candle…
Welcome to SHARE!
SHARE is an online literary journal that publishes fiction, non-fiction, essays, poetry and visual artwork, and features a new artist each month. SHARE is a space for everyone. Whether a writer, contributor, or someone who loves to read, SHARE is a place to come and create meaningful connections, build relationships and contribute something of substance…
Fear and Joy by David Speer
Fear is the only emotion I remember feeling as I sat outside the operating room in our hospital’s labor and delivery area. Fear of not knowing what was happening around me. In nine months of pregnancy, my wife and I had never anticipated a Cesarean, and we were certainly unprepared for what was to come….
In Pursuit of the Sun, by Liza Bencheikh
I took a train across the US, from upstate New York to the southern coast of California. I’d like to say that there was some great metaphorical reason for embarking on that 3,000-mile journey, but there was none. It was not an allegorical journey, but rather one that reflected nothing more than the raw spirit…
The Gallery of J. Ray Paradiso
Painted & Photographed by J. Ray Paradiso A confessed outsider, Chicago’s J. Ray Paradiso is an award-winning artist who holds graduate degrees in both Business Administration and Philosophy. A recovering academic, Paradiso is an experiMENTAL writer, painter and street photographer. Inspired by American street photojournalists, Garry Winogrand and Vivian Maier, Paradiso’s paintings and photographs have been shown in theatres…
Watching Her Chase The Dragon/ Watching The Dragon Catch Her, by Shoshana Maniscalco
Auditorium On a frozen night in March of my junior year of high school, my mother drags me to a lecture about drugs and the teenage brain. It is meant for parents, and I am one of the only students there. For what seems like a lifetime, I listen to the middle-aged woman drone on…
Persevere, by Ariana Aboulafia
Ariana is no stranger to doctors. Like many others, Ariana was born with an immune deficiency, making her susceptible to illnesses such as whooping cough, scarlet fever, and so on. From a young age, she spent more time than a child should sitting upon the crinkling white paper of a doctor’s examination table, cold with…
Coming Through, by Michael Lemieux
I was twenty-nine-years-old when I had my first panic attack. It was October of 2012, two months before my thirtieth birthday. At that time, I was living with my girlfriend, Anna. Hurricane Sandy was coming. It was all over the news, but no matter how many precautions I took, I was unprepared for what was…
Jordan Had Enough, by Lilly Donalds
It was Jordan’s first day of her second semester at SUNY New Paltz when she first noticed Greg. She was in the dining hall waiting on the food line with her roommate when he caught her attention. He was standing by the dishwashing station adjacent to her on the other side of the room. Jordan…
Survey at a local café, by Donna Phillips
Marketing Researcher pays random woman $100 to answer questions for a human research study. Man and Woman sit across from each other at a two-person table beside the window facing a busy street. “What was your first thought this morning,” the man asks. “You mean when I woke up? Coffee. It’s always coffee.” “No,…