Kate Garcia and I want to be hot. I want to be hot in a girl way and a boy way. A bot way. A seventeen-year-old way and like my mom. So hot that the wheels fall off—I’m out of control! So hot I...
Megan Blankenship This is the kind of place I grew up: as a child I thought it was a law that names of towns contain “rock” or “mountain.” I knew four towns, and Little Rock was culture. ...
Martin Hopson He drives the fishhook through the soft belly of the tree frog— its legs like engine cylinders back- firing in the amber of the afternoon. I wish he had a good reason for taking it...
Korey Hurni The day after his myth began, Icarus had to return to the trophy bar to pick up his credit card. This time molted, reeking of cheap plastic, feeling as though he crashed far out in some...
Patrick Kindig The students I teach are more likely to die than most. Horribly & soon, I mean—in battle, or in that skull- numbed moment before. Or simply by a stray bullet skimming the floor...
Robert Mata We fished all summer. My father taught me to bait a hook with a worm, then a minnow, then a crayfish. Learning torture like Russian dolls, each body a grosser, wider death. The cooler...
Mary Maxfield My mother taught me silence like a secret handshake, more muscle memory than vow. When asked about her now, a hush entangles fingers, slaps, knocks fists. I say everything but this. She...
Rukan Saif The last time I saw my father this close to God was when the doctors cut open his chest and took his heart into their palms and named it lost. So when he declines the call to prayer for...
Katie Jean Shinkle The lights of the carousel blink once twice in distress. You are on main stage dressed in all-black to blend in, to never be seen. Instead, I squirrel you away my...
