by Elsa Nichols
Forgive me for growing silent.
I still care. I always cared. In fact,
I care too much.
Read More »by Elsa Nichols
Forgive me for growing silent.
I still care. I always cared. In fact,
I care too much.
Read More »by Felicia Tsao
Read More »an imperial reminder of revolutions to come and the ones that landed at their feet
by Lynsey France
they say recovery is trying twice
when blood dries, gnats swarming the only sentence that’s safe to
return to
I am still waking from my last death because you will not forget her
Read More »by Mark Smeltzer
A wounded girl sneaks through the algorithm.
A bullet burrows under the root of her ponytail,
Copper tic swelling at the base of her skull.
A blue glove bears her arm to give or take fluids.
She faces, stony, away on a rare hospital bed.
by Emma Williquette
EXHIBIT A: GREAT-GRANDMA ON DAD’S MOM’S SIDE.
Indianapolis, Indiana. Sometime in 2007.
I only remember the day in photographic bursts now at twenty-one. Mom was putting my hair half-up in a little ribbon as she always did. After that, I was in someone’s arms going somewhere. Suddenly I had shoes on. Wanted them off. Couldn’t take them off. Lastly, the backseat of the car, left side, on a purple floral booster seat.
Read More »by Jeffrey Zable
Of course we’re all in different stages of dying,
but it seems that those who are closest to it
are mostly the ones talking about it.
by Doug Raphael
There are days
Adam and I would walk
by the sawdust silt banks
of the Medway River,
to a patch of grass
by Scott Bethay
1.
Profane, breathless June
air thick with perfume
of cigarettes and makeup
by Margaret E. Gillio
After reading Jordan Salama and Adrienne Rich
See the dark trucks
across the street.
They encircle a man,
pin him down.
Draw the blinds, stop
answering the door.
We watch in a silence like a rushing river
where I drown. I fear this silence.
by E. L. McKee
Impossible to separate them;
like the grain of sand around which
a mirror-bright pearl is formed,
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