“He’s not Santa Claus, he’s frickin’ Big Brother. He’s the earthly, saintly, elf-y equivalent to that guy in the sky always looking down on us.” Mimi Brooks takes a good, hard look at Santa.
“illness and loneliness / a life of scary dreams skirting the edge of consciousness, / knowledge of greed and mendacity, complicity, / commissions and omissions” New poetry from Mimi Brooks.
“Did it come in like a lion and go out like a lion this year? She thought it did, though she couldn’t remember the start of it.” A Hard-Boiled Noir Fiction Contest winner by Mimi Brooks.
“they’re the only flower allowed in the cemetery / where my mother’s body lies” A new poem by Mimi Brooks.
“twisting to touch what had been once imagined/then built then lived in a home a prison a coffin.” A new poem from Mimi Brooks.