we were mistaken for sisters, two middle-school blondes,

glasses sliding down noses, volleying secrets

in whispers. winter storm clouds held the promise

of snow days; we crossed our fingers for blizzards.


years later, we sit in her parlor, discussing our lives.

we’ve forgotten much, but memories cut our minds

like dull knives – a butchery too eternal

to reconsider, too sweetly painful to pass by.


I drive away. the moon sags behind the sifting snow,

a frigid night so similar to the ones we used

to hope for together. old dreams are frozen through

from time and cold. what we need is a break in the weather.


by Katherine Vondy


Katherine Vondy is an LA-based writer and filmmaker. A 2009 resident writer at Wildacres, a 2012 resident artist at Starry Night and a 2013 artist-in-residence at the Vermont Studio Center, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Stickman Review, Toasted Cheese, Red River Review, Perigee, Dark Sky Magazine, The Oklahoma Review, Breakwater Review and short story anthology The Lover, the Lunatic and the Poet. Katherine earned a BA in English and Music from Amherst College and an MFA in Film & Television Production from the University of Southern California. Her blog of comedic mini-essays can be found at http://thewalkingdeadpan.tumblr.com/.


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