Category: Visual Art

Untitled

Despy Boutris has had writing published in Copper Nickel, American Poetry Review, TheGettysburg Review, Colorado Review, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere. Currently, she serves as poetry editor for...

Read More

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

Thin Apocalypse

Olivia Treynor Fourteen years old and my sister decides she is going to starve herself into the shape of something beautiful. She has not yet told me this is her plan, but from the way she studies...

Read More

Robust (Oaken)

Susan Grimm How does the body signal its willingness. The returnof muscle swing, the wherewithal for almost bounce. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stretching the inside stufflike a rusting cord. Full weight on...

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
×