ScribesMICRO
* Managing Editor: Edward Ahern *
* Associate Editor: Alison McBain *
* Special Features Editor: Matthew P.S. Salinas *
* Poetry Editor: Mary Keating *
Submission Editors:
* Sarah Anderson * P.C. Keeler * P.M. Ray * Ira Rosofsky *
* Felicia Strangeways * Amita Basu * Julie Cadman *
* Scott Bogart * Leslie Burton-Lopez *
* Vincent Convertito * Benjamin Barouch *
* Associate Editor: Alison McBain *
* Special Features Editor: Matthew P.S. Salinas *
* Poetry Editor: Mary Keating *
Submission Editors:
* Sarah Anderson * P.C. Keeler * P.M. Ray * Ira Rosofsky *
* Felicia Strangeways * Amita Basu * Julie Cadman *
* Scott Bogart * Leslie Burton-Lopez *
* Vincent Convertito * Benjamin Barouch *
Issue # 49
August 31, 2025
Featuring the short scribblings of:
* Richard M. Ankers * Em Arata-Berkel * Robin Blasberg *
* Koushiki Dasgupta Chaudhuri * Cailín Frankland *
* Lee Hammerschmidt * Matthew Johnson * Joann Kielar *
* Craig Kirchner * Jon Krafchek * Kelly Matsuura *
* Julie McNeely-Kirwan * Jennifer Mungham * Martin Nike *
* Kirsty Nottage * J.S. O'Keefe * JL Peridot *
* Pippa Storey * David Sydney * Lia Tjokro *
* Richard M. Ankers * Em Arata-Berkel * Robin Blasberg *
* Koushiki Dasgupta Chaudhuri * Cailín Frankland *
* Lee Hammerschmidt * Matthew Johnson * Joann Kielar *
* Craig Kirchner * Jon Krafchek * Kelly Matsuura *
* Julie McNeely-Kirwan * Jennifer Mungham * Martin Nike *
* Kirsty Nottage * J.S. O'Keefe * JL Peridot *
* Pippa Storey * David Sydney * Lia Tjokro *
Book Review
The Twenty: A Youth Poetry Collection
Edited by Maigan van der Giessen
Reviewed by Alison McBain
The Poets: Saliem Abraham Jess Amos Kym Bahandi Sohraab Bassi Nadia Baandall Astrid Bjork Ruthvik Chekka Lily Cheesman Skylar Cook Luna Delisle-Rosende Ghufran Mohamed Maria Milanovic Anamicaela Masinsin Adilyah Taller Sanvi Regmi S. Pyr Ava San Agustin Willow Kaszuba Fern Weimer A. Wiggins |
Every spring in the capital city of Alberta in Canada, the Edmonton Poetry Festival welcomes local, national, and international poets to the city for a celebration of the spoken word. The year 2025 happened to be the twentieth anniversary of the founding of the festival, and so the organizers went all-out and made their poetry celebration a month-long extravaganza. To top it all off, they put together a very special collection of works called The Twenty: A Youth Poetry Collection. To celebrate twenty years, they found twenty poets age twenty and younger to fill the collection’s pages, and I was lucky enough to snag a copy at one of the festival’s events. As it says in the foreword, “This anthology is a celebration of and dedicated to the voices of emerging artists who deserve representation at any age.” The diverse group of poets who grace its pages are proof that that the editor followed that exact edict when selecting the poems that would make it to print. From the opening poem by Ghufran Mohamed, a grade 5 poet originally from the Sudan, to the closing words of Jess Amos, who contributed the final poem “Taken by the sun,” this work showcases the strong creativity of youth poets hailing from all over the world. The poems tackle many subjects, including racism and belonging, journeys through time, death and rebirth, the generations of family, growing up, the power of songs and writing, fairy tales and origin stories, maggots and monsters, memories of homelands, and lies and delusions. Some of the poems are rhymed, some unrhymed; most are free verse. They vary in length from one page to six, and they cover a wide and variable range of voices and styles. I greatly enjoyed this collection, and there were a few poems in particular that stood out to me. Anamicaela Masinsin’s “Talim ng Oyayi (Sharpness of a lullaby)” was one of my favorites—it takes the reader on a journey through languages and worlds, incorporating the ideas of journeys and destinations in a song-like structure that is both musical and powerful. There’s the rallying cry of “Sudan’s Uprising, I Remember” by Saliem Abraham, who recalls growing up in the Sudan, and the contradiction of loving a complicated place filled with suffering and pain, as well as joy and personal memories. And then the final poem by Jess Amos, “Taken by the sun,” which explores the complex emotions of grief and loss. This is a collection penned by the next generation of great writers, and it’s one that would be appreciated by poetry lovers everywhere. It’s an anthology that encompasses universal themes, while at the same time embracing the diversity and uniqueness of world cultures and experiences. Highly recommended. |
Photo by Michael Leonard
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Fiction
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Connection by Jon Krafchek I shivered outside the meditation center during the nature observation, wishing I’d worn a parka. The blustery October wind forced me to stand an inch from the front wall in an effort to feel the sunlight illuminating the bricks, several with flies tucked into the spaces between them.
Noticing our mutual effort to get warm, I felt a connection with the insects. St. Francis of Assisi referred to animals as Sisters and Brothers. The next time Sister Fly buzzes around my lunch, I’ll shoo her away rather than swat her. But then again, maybe I’ll let her nibble. * * * Having taught kindergarten, Jon Krafchek’s writing is influenced by two of the giants of children’s literature, Mother Goose and the Brothers Grimm. Two other influences, although never studied in kindergarten, are Charles Bukowski and Leonard Cohen. Jon lives beside an enchanted walnut forest teeming with wonder in West Montrose, Ontario.
Midwestern Courtesy by Pippa Storey It’s a frigid Chicago morning. Commuters hunker inside puffy coats on the CTA platform, hoods cinched tight against the biting air. Shielding my face from its teeth, I head toward the heat lamp—but the space underneath is already occupied. As I continue past the early birds, people smile at me sheepishly, then quickly look down. Gradually, more passengers arrive, and I watch with amusement as the scene repeats. When the train finally pulls into the station, I board last and glance back at the pigeons, fluffed up in the cold like little round feather dusters, still huddling together under the heat lamp.
* * * Pippa Storey grew up in New Zealand, studied in France, and lived in Evanston, Illinois, for several years. She is now a Research Associate Professor of Radiology at New York University, where she develops techniques for MRI. For more of her stories, poetry, digital artwork and videos, please visit https://sites.google.com/view/pippastorey.
Image Courtesy of the Chicago Transit Authority
A Well-Stocked Pantry by Kelly Matsuura Neve stood before the largest viewing window in the submarine, marveling at the sea-life dancing and darting mere feet away.
Arnold watched her. He’d loved Neve for years. Finally, they were together. “I still can’t believe this,” she said, turning. “Who designs and builds their own luxury submarine?” “All men need a hobby,” Arnold joked. He left her to prepare some snacks. Inside the pantry, Arnold locked the door—he couldn’t have Neve wandering in, seeing the freezer full of meat, the shelves packed with canned goods. Enough supplies for six months. Enough time for Neve to love him back. * * * Kelly Matsuura is an avid short story writer, with a focus on fantasy, horror, and literary fiction. She has stories and poetry published with Black Hare Press, Iron Fairie Publishing, Wolfsinger Press, Ravens Quoth Press, Stringybark Stories, and many more. Kelly lives in Nagoya, Japan with her geeky husband.
Invisible Tea by JL Peridot We dismantled our ship and built a home amidst the abandoned outpost’s rolling hills. We never questioned why anyone would leave this place; corporate military always followed the winds of trade.
Then they arrived. Alien ships darkened the sky. Our daughter’s old enough now to ask about the world above. She plays with toys left by a family who hid here before us, minus the journal not meant for children’s eyes. It warms my heart to see you drink invisible tea, then say Mummy would like hers with whisky. The hunting season will be over soon. I wonder if my avocado tree has fruited yet. * * * JL Peridot writes love letters to the future on devices from the past. She lives with her partner and fur-family in Boorloo/Perth, Western Australia, on Whadjuk Noongar country. Visit jlperidot.com for more of her work.
Wait by Koushiki Dasgupta Chaudhuri You turn over on your back like a well-done steak. The sun glares, sand prickles my bare thighs. The air, heavy with your musky aftershave, cocoons me in its heady embrace. You always worked better than sleeping pills.
I found your letter last night, scattered somewhere in the space between us—bigger than three continents, smaller than the snow globe you gave me last Christmas. “Who plans a vacation to break up?” I type, and hit backspace in my girl group chat. I am breathing you after six months. I close my eyes and wait for the waves to break. * * * Koushiki Dasgupta Chaudhuri is a software developer based in Bengaluru, India. In her free time, she likes to read, write, travel and occasionally try to shatter the glass ceiling. Her words have appeared/are forthcoming in Borderless Journal, The Bookends Review, Kitaab, 101 Words, Pena Literary Magazine, Indian Literature, The Bangalore Review and The Telegraph, India. Find her on Instagram @kdcreadsandwrites.
The Forest of Secrets by Kirsty Nottage Lauren stepped into the forest.
She knew she shouldn’t. She’d been warned—not of skulking strangers or disguised wolves, but of the trees. The whispers started as soon as the forest embraced her. “It’s wrong, the way he treats you.” Lauren clenched her fists, shaking her head. “He says it’s love, but that’s a lie to keep you quiet.” Each word chipped away at her self-built armour. “You need to leave.” Numb, Lauren fled. The trees couldn’t understand human hearts—how love and pain entwine. Their wisdom was a trick. She returned home, leaving the forest and its whispers behind. * * * Kirsty Nottage is a new writer from Birmingham, UK. Always a lover of literature, she is a recent convert to short fiction and is enjoying spending time experimenting with different styles and genre. When not writing, Kirsty can be found with her two dogs, aptly named Dickens and Hardy.
Image by Johannes Plenio
Sweet by Richard M. Ankers Smoke and whiskey. The sound of the people. Another heartbeat night. Life captured in an ill-lit bubble. Eyes smiling from behind unnecessary shades. This is it. This is my world.
A single circle of gold silences the crowd. A languid light for a languid night. Slow footsteps. He wears a casual suit and sorrowful eyes. We all do now. His weapon of choice is a trumpet. There’s everything and nothing in his performance. There always is. Same song played different ways. Depends on the mood. Depends on the soul. Some shout for an encore. I just whisper, “Sweet,” and leave. * * * Richard M. Ankers is the English author of The Eternals Series and Britannia Unleashed. Richard has featured in Daily Science Fiction, Love Letters To Poe, House of Arcanum, and feels privileged to have appeared in many more. Richard lives to write.
Sky Stitches by Joann Kielar I startled them.
I am alone in my boat and alone on the water when the geese fly up from the lake, lifting in a line, like slightly crooked stitches in the sky above my kayak. One must take the lead. One goose must have a sense of responsibility. They fly over my boat, and now a blunt beak pokes out from the line, then the small, feathered head, neck stretching forward. It’s not the center goose as I expected. This leader pulls the stitches taut until they form an off-center V in the fabric of the sky, towing the blue scarf of summer above me, away toward autumn.
* * * Joann Kielar is a writer and visual artist. She has just completed a collection of essays chronicling her late-in-life travels on the rivers, lakes and streams near her home in Pittsburgh, PA. She also writes short fiction and has no desire to write anything longer.
The Crow Child by Julie McNeely-Kirwan “Did you know about crows?” asked her mother.
“What?” Cassie asked back, feeding Johnny as he sat in his wheelchair. “They stay,” her mother said, angrily. “They put off their fun. And they’re just birds.” Cassie glanced at the kitchen table, crowded with medicines and wipes. Her university application was gone, probably in the garbage, wrapped in one of Johnny’s diapers. “They help their families,” said her mother, insistently. Open-mouthed, Johnny craned hungrily toward her, blank eyes unseeing. Cassie wanted to fly, screaming, into blue skies, her feathers black and shining. Instead, she silently spooned more applesauce into Johnny’s gaping mouth.
* * * Julie McNeely-Kirwan lives in Arkansas. Her work has appeared in Every Writer’s Resource, Spine, Overtime, Every Day Fiction, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Sanitarium, Writer’s Digest’s Show Us Your Shorts, Flash Fiction Magazine and Five South, among others.
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Photo by Bernd Hildebrandt
The Stocking by Robin Blasberg I was in ninth grade and skipping school when the back door opened. Clem knew we left it unlocked. Mom had always had a soft spot for Clem ’cause his folks were never around. He had been my best buddy since kindergarten. I figured that’s why he still came over even though I knew we were drifting apart.
But when I saw Clem enter that room and pick up the stocking, my throat caught. He slid his hand inside, rubbed it against his cheek, then brought the nylon to his nose. And as I watched him inhale my mother’s scent, I knew for certain our friendship wasn’t about me anymore. * * * Robin Blasberg’s stories often make connections in unanticipated ways. Expect the unexpected because clever turns and surprise endings are trademarks of her work. For more twisted tales, see her YouthPLAYS script “A Taste of Oz.”
Silent Love by Lia Tjokro Mom never says she loves me—not once, not ever.
When I was little, I used to be jealous when my best friend’s mom said, “I love you, sweetie!” to her when she came to pick her up from school. I wished Mom would say that too, but she just stood there with a box of homemade snacks and an extra jacket for me. I am an adult now; still, all Mom cares about are food and weather. * * *
Have you eaten?
Eat more. You look thin. Winter is here. I knitted this sweater for you. * * *
I do not understand. How hard is it to say I love you?
* * * Lia Tjokro is a Chinese-Indonesian writer who writes in English and Indonesian. Her works have appeared in Porch Litmag, Kitaab, The Citron Review, Mekong Review, and elsewhere. She has published one novel in Indonesian. Her IG is februalia1. She currently lives in the Netherlands with her husband and son.
Brunch by Cailín Frankland She orders the granola parfait, no blueberries. Black coffee. Iced water. That’s all for now, thanks. Actually, you can just take the menu.
She’s caught up on that dating show—the one with Instagram models fighting over roses. She thinks the frontrunner will self-eliminate, become the next lead. Becca or Kaity or Jess, something like that. You pick up the tab, walk her home. She’s going on another run. You watch her round the corner of the block, the loose fabric of her leggings sagging around her knees. Women’s extra small, safety-pinned at the waist. She’ll need children’s clothes soon. * * * Cailín Frankland (she/they) is a British-American writer and public health professional based in Baltimore, Maryland. Their cultural criticism has appeared in Talk Vomit and The First Line Literary Magazine, their poetry has appeared in Eye to the Telescope (Rhysling finalist) and Rough Cut Press, and their flash fiction has appeared in Flash Frog Magazine (Best Microfiction-nominated), Black Hare Press’s Dark Moments series, My Galvanized Friend, and Saros Speculative Fiction. They live with their spouse, two old lady cats, a rotating cast of foster animals, and a 70-pound pitbull affectionately known as Baby. You can find them on X as @cailin_sm.
Ghost Story by Em Arata-Berkel They didn’t see her. She was certain of that. On the street corner, she waved her cardboard sign to no avail. She swung around the light pole, singing in the rain like she did all those years ago when she wore little ladybug boots, but they didn’t hear her either.
The living just shuffled along. They rediscovered their phones or locked their eyes straight ahead, toward a destination she herself couldn’t see. She couldn’t remember when someone had last braved looking her in the eyes or mumbling, “Not today.” That’d all stopped months ago, and she figured she’d been a ghost long before she slumped over her sign. * * * Em Arata-Berkel is an emerging writer who’s taken root in the Pacific Northwest. Their flash fiction appears online at 50-Word Stories, 101 Words, and the official Not Quite Write Podcast site.
History by Martin Nike The police hammered on my door at six in the morning.
“False Social Media history,” an officer barked. “Must be erased. Our system has detected places, people, and experiences that are fictitious.” They dragged me into the living room and thrust a laptop in front of me. They forced me to watch, horrified, as my meticulously crafted online identity imploded in an animated, ceremonial spectacle. Fake images melted into a psychedelic splurge of pixels, text broke up into a firework of words, then faded, leaving nothing. After twenty years, it had felt so real. My heart ached for the life and memories I had lost. * * * Martin Nike was born in 1970 in Surrey and has lived in Lancashire, Sheffield, and Coventry and currently works as a Software Engineer writing gibberish that makes computers do useful, and sometimes pointless, things.
The Petty Duke by David Sydney It was a time of walled, petty dukedoms and of constant warfare between them. And so, Duke Leroy’s defenses were again under attack…
“They’ve broken through the outer wall, sir.” No one wants to hear that. “Damn… my nephew Guido designed that outer wall.” What had he been thinking? Guido? “And now the inner wall’s been breached.” “Didn’t Guido design that, too?” “Yes, sir.” “Thank God I thought of having an inner, inner wall.” It was Duke Leroy’s best defensive idea yet. Did any petty dukedom have an inner, inner wall? But… “What is it?” “Why’d you let Guido design that also, sir?” * * * David Sydney is a physician. He has had pieces in Little Old Lady Comedy, 101 Words, Microfiction Monday, 50 Give or Take, Friday Flash Fiction, Grey Sparrow Journal, Bright Flash Literary Review, Disturb the Universe, Pocket Fiction, R U Joking, Entropy Squared, Every Writer, and Rue Scribe.
Portals by Jennifer Mungham “Stop!” screamed the knights. The camera bounced against my chest. I slipped on wet leaves dodging around a large oak tree. Nearly there. Solid stone walls loomed ahead. I tried taking a few more pictures over my shoulder. Time to also dispel the idea that knights could barely move in armour. Part of the castle wall wobbled and went translucent.
I jumped through the shimmering haze, landing with a wince as my ankle turned beneath me. “Got it?” my supervisor asked. I handed him the camera with a smile and limped away as the shimmering portal behind me disappeared. * * * Jennifer Mungham is a scientist and fiction writer.
Regenerative Lecture by J.S. O'Keefe It was the way the keynote speaker explained it; restoring damaged tissue in mammalian bodies! In essence, a quantum mechanical approach to regenerative medicine.
Afterwards I shared a cab with a professor from Birmingham who was staying in the same Kensington hotel. I brought up the presentation. It was a crock of shit, he said, and would have no qualms announcing that in front of the conference. As a matter of fact, the morning session would provide the perfect opportunity. In the hotel bar we had a couple of drinks. That’s when I noticed he had about fifteen fingers, and a tiny nose was growing under his chin.
* * * J. S. O’Keefe is a scientist, trilingual translator and writer. His short stories and poems have been published in Everyday Fiction, Roi Faineant, 101 Words, Spillwords, ScribesMICRO, 50WS, AntipodeanSF, Friday Flash Fiction, Spirit Fire Review, Medium, Paragraph Planet, WENSUM, 6S, Satire, MMM, etc.
Photo by R. Winkelmann
Life Is a Cabernet, Old Chum by Lee Hammerschmidt “What the…” Cattle Baron Jake Bibbs muttered as he stared at the massive vineyard in front of him. “When did this happen?”
“Not really sure,” ramrod Howdy Bates said. “But it’s Tuchus Estates. They’re famous for their zinfandel. Full-bodied, with notes of cranberry and raspberry.” Massive spring rains had washed out the usual cattle drive trails to Abilene, forcing Jake to take his cattle over a longer, seldom used route. What was once open range was now wine country. “What do we do, Boss?” Howdy asked. “We can’t turn back,” Jake said. “So, we herd it through the grapevine.”
* * * Lee Hammerschmidt is a Visual Artist/Writer/ Troubadour. He is the author of six collections of short stories and illustrations. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!
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Poetry
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Editor's Corner
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Thunder rumbled through the neighborhood,
drowning out even the howling of the wind. The darkling air turned the bright house colors into sickly images of how people tried to live. Lightning rode the black horizon toward them, and the air smelled of damp and dirt and ozone. Those outside hurriedly abandoned their tasks and in nervous quick steps retreated indoors. Even those already in held their fear close, for a storm’s harm is unknowably capricious and it cares nothing for the houses of men. spring seep in moss bowl
so clear it could be imbibed attended by toad He’d tried everything to end their maddening reign of summer menace. Fly tapes dangled throughout the house. A swatter in every room. Windows and doors sealed. Baseboards caulked. Garbage immediately taken outside. Bug spray. Nothing worked and the problem was only getting worse.
“Bzzz. It’s two a.m. and you’re snoring again, Brian.” “Leave me alone.” “Bzzz. I’ve been on your nose since midnight, Brian.” “Stop it!” “Bzzz. It’s seven a.m.! Wake up. You’re going to be late for work again, Brian.” “Buzz off! It’s Saturday!” “Bzzz. Go open the front door, Brian. We’ve invited more friends. It’s party time. |
“At last,” Alphonse murmured, watching through heavily-leaded windows as streaks of ash that used to be cities curved across the atmosphere. “No more interruptions.”
He glanced down. The terrified crowd was thumping their hands uselessly on the heavy blast doors, trapped outside. They’d thought he’d let them share his little paradise, the fools. They could die with the rest of humanity. He strolled through the blissfully silent, empty hallways of his private complex, recirculated air safe from the contamination outside. He sat in the library and selected one of his favorite books. Then frowned. A tooth had begun to ache. 
“This is going to sound crazy, I know, but you didn’t,” Dr. Asfourth stopped and took a deep breath, “you didn’t try to take it out yourself with a rusty set of pliers or something, did you?”
“Why, of course not. I would never do such a thing!” Demetri lied as the pus oozed from the back of his abscessed tooth. The taste brought him to the verge of vomiting. Dr. Asfourth wiped her forehead. “Okay, just had to make sure. I mean, this is infected like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” “Strange,” Demetri mumbled, turning bright red. |
The Poets' Salon
If you're looking for more poetry, including a place to read your work, receive critiques, and explore poetic forms, check out The Poets' Salon. Two editors of ScribesMICRO, Edward Ahern and Alison McBain, run this free poetry workshop, and our poetry editor Mary Keating often drops in too.
Meetings take place on the second Saturday of every month from 10 a.m. to noon EST via Zoom. More info, including how to sign up for the poetry workshop, can be found on The Poets' Salon website or via Meetup.
Meetings take place on the second Saturday of every month from 10 a.m. to noon EST via Zoom. More info, including how to sign up for the poetry workshop, can be found on The Poets' Salon website or via Meetup.