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Interview Near Endor Years Later

By Mark Mitchell

                        He came looking for me, that king. He knew

                        what I could do. Later, his strength revealed

                        itself. He was tall. He was tired. I screamed

                        because a ghost arrived—they never do—

                        I call, but they’re just dead. I often dream

                        they come but—until that day—tombs stayed sealed.

                        The king’s poor head had no time to go gray

                        like mine. I killed a calf for him. He—stayed.

                        Don’t think I’m powerless. I’m not a fake.

                        But voices tickle air—that’s how I work

                        most nights. That time, a man I saw buried

                        stood right here. Forget it. Let me just bake

                        flatbread. That king’s dead now. Don’t get carried

                        away. Prophets—kings—they stay under earth.



Previously Featured Poetry

Interview Near Endor Years Later by Mark Mitchell

An amorous vignette by Tiffany Babb

Reconciliation Effort by John Zedolik

Divinity by Samuel Franklin

Yuki-Onna by Alexandra Ranieri

Sisters conflicted over roles, Part II by Carolyn Martin

Previously Featured Fiction

Titivillus by Clayton Ramsey

The Dark Night of the Soul by Laurette Viteritti-Folk

A Taste of the Number 15 by Caleb Warner

HOW COLORS CAME TO BE by Richard Krepski

The First Dragon by Tyler Omichinski

Shell Game by Reed Stirling

Previously Featured Art

digital and ink abstract art

Night Fog Machine by Sari Krosinsky

HAUNTED by Julie Dapper