Author: Frank J. Tassone

I almost can’t remember how the trains raced around the track. How Dad and I adjusted knobs and toggled twitches. How town lights turned on and off; how locomotives whirled out of the tunnel....

An old video, copied from an old film, shows me attempting to roller skate with the Sterino kids. I remember laughter, and perhaps some encouraging words from Debbie. She, with her long, thick brown...

“It was one of his many ‘get rich quick’ schemes,” Mom says. She and Dad bought a racehorse with some thoroughbred blood in it. They hired a trainer and jockey, and rented stables. They...

Suffern Poetry hosts an Open Mic in the community room, on the top floor of Suffern’s Village Hall. Rows of chairs, separated by one aisle, lead to the “stage”—an open space at the front...

It’s Friday, July 18th. We start to say grace when my phone rings. Without looking, I know it’s you. My dish of penne remains in the microwave as I see your name on the...

The rumbling of my Big Wheels on the blacktop. The pulled handle break, the spin out, and the way I face the way I’ve come. How fast could I ride down the hill of...

Deep emerald maple leaves blossom on my neighbor’s tree. The trunk—in shadow—looks almost black. It casts little shade over the aging, clubhouse-swing set that my neighbor worked so hard to erect. The one no...

moving dinosaurs the animatronics that bring battles to life his smile when T-Rex downs triceratops The tiger lies on his side, eyes closed. Another one—the next enclosure over—at least lifts his head. As indifferently...