The Life of the Party

By Catherine O'Connor

the purple lights start to fade, the crowd dying with them.
     your eyes once hidden in the crowd glow vermilion,
     failing to camouflage themselves beneath the shadows
     of your white pupil, an outcast among the filthy onyx pupils

Maybe it was the Wind

By James Knoflicek

Maybe it was the wind that blew her to the ground.
Maybe a subtle hollow she hadn’t noticed brought her down.
Either way, she ends up in the dirt.
Earth covers the soft pink fabric draped over her
Like paint splattered on a porcelain canvas.