Category: Visual Art

Conscience Round

Brendan Egan The pharmaceutical cocktail necessary for lethal injection being unavailable, the State had determined, pursuant to sentencing matrices, XXXXXXXXXXX should be executed by a firing squad...

Read More

The Cult of The Greater Tuberosity

Sasha Tandlich She attacks the shirt with a dull pair of scissors. These are the same scissors she uses for everything: opening packages, cutting green onions, trimming her bangs, holding against her...

Read More

Two Wings to Veil My Face

Kameryn Carter I say Jesus wept in placeof weeping. I say, I wasborn submerged. Proposition:wilted salad in a bag. Corollary:ain’t’a that good news? Today I farewelled my deadin the drive-thru...

Read More

Circle of Fourths

Jessica Franken C major: Unsalted. Straight as train tracks. Children’s key. Your niece (six, with a tiny teenager inside) is learning piano, white keys first. If she grows cross, whisper that C...

Read More

In Retrograde

Meagan Ciesla I wasn’t alone on that long walk when the dog came around the hedge, snarling. My friend was pushing her two-year-old in a stroller, and when she screamed, I thought she was joking...

Read More

Late Bloomer

Elizabeth Galoozis My first exposure to Honey Creek School was in second grade, when our class, like every other second grade class in the county, took a field trip there. Our teacher, Mrs. Stone,...

Read More

The Lost Coast

Jeff Ewing Bolinas, California isn’t quite there. Threads of fog drift across the middle distance, making the landscape insubstantial, the people half-formed. I can hear the thud of breakers...

Read More

We Will Call This Comfort

John McCarthy When we get home from working long days, we know     there are longer days ahead that do not love us. The white salt-streaks following us home in the...

Read More

A Bird Called Prozac

Matthew Tuckner Instead of dying, I decided to rename the birds.Outside my window is the yellow-throatedme-in-me. Holding its wing in my hand, at a rightangle, it looks small, smaller than the radial...

Read More

Aftermath

Stephen Tuttle On the fourth night, Samson woke to remember he had no hair and had no eyes. He had dreamed of angels plaiting his locks into seven cords that reached a golden city and brought it...

Read More