Essay

The Laws of Attraction

There once was a bear in Yellowstone that was drawn to the carcass of an elk.  The elk came to rest in the hollow of a ravine, at the edge of a basin.  The bear placed his paw on the spine of the elk…

June 23, 2017
Stories

Generative

The yellow-bellied-bully howled like a wolf beneath a full moon, before his fist shattered my nose.  I had grown but three inches in three years.  He had grown an entire foot in a single summer.  He leaned into the swing; his knuckles cast a…

June 22, 2017
Poetry

Wounded Knee

Assimilate or exterminate These are the options. I adopt the white ways below a haze of self-doubt. My defiance, a reliance of rational self-preservation. The reservation I live on is not my home. I want to roam like brother buffalo on the plains of…

June 21, 2017
Jeanette Marie Cox
Poetry

An Autobiography of Distress

He is critical, in a heavy, undergraduate way, experimenting with my truth. He reads to confirm what he thinks he knows. An apple polisher who wants to be published, he dissects my stories as if they are cats on his laboratory table. In one…

May 11, 2017
Grave niches in the Catacombs of Domitilla, Rome. This photograph was taken by Dnalor_01.
Stories

The Catacombs of Change

“We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, “Oh, nothing!” Pride helps; and pride is not a bad thing when it…

May 10, 2017
Poetry

When an Iconoclast Comes Calling

My intent is to incite a riot of the mind to bash away beliefs one brick at a time to rhyme my way to reason in a season of uncertainty. I am a saintly sinner at the dinner table of denial. I am a…

May 2, 2017
Poetry

The Good Earth

(Photo courtesy of David Donohue: http://www.fotosbydavid.com)   I am a peasant girl. I walk with unbound feet, shoulders bent beneath the weight of wisdom.  My mother did not bind me to the conventions of my culture.  I carry my own weight. My feet are…

April 20, 2017
Jeanette Marie Cox
Essay

Crush

When I had my own personal tsunami, no one organized a fund raiser, or mailed me toilet paper, blankets, and food packages. I was completely all alone.   I lost my full time job with benefits, buried two children related to me by blood, became…

April 16, 2017
Poetry

Nuremberg U. S. A.

I was a lab rat for the United States government. They shot me full of mercury in a DPT cocktail. Chemical fodder. Human experiments sanctioned by the US military—granted immunity to prosecution—they immunized us the un-enlisted, little soldiers of the sixties, children of the…

March 25, 2017
Jeanette Marie Cox
Stories

Never Poop on Poison Ivy

If you plan on camping dear, these few thoughts I’d like to share, never poke a porcupine or poop on poison ivy. Beware of buzzing storms of bees when selecting caching trees. If you sleep outside your tent in order to prevent an accident,…

February 23, 2017