Jeff Whitney The name of the bag of sugar I carried around for two weeks in seventh grade because it was my baby. The stampede of cows my brother and I teased to chasing in New Mexico the year...
Lydia Golitz CORREGGIO was born in CORREGGIO and died in CORREGGIO. To his friends, he was known as CORREGGIO. He was a child who played with balls. He was a child who sat at dinner and...
Lydia Golitz Second Runner-up in the 2022 Greg Grummer Poetry Contest Here is my desperate garden, my lease of sand and gravel. Where Saint Catherine lies with her head off in the yellow...
Zebulon Huset He didn’t tell me, and I shouldn’t have been snooping—but—how much privacy should a five year-old have? Finding his post-it diary was adorable until I noticedthe wavy pages...
Lisa Huffaker Lisa Huffaker creates poetry, collage, and assemblage. She is a frequent visiting artist at the Nasher Sculpture Center, a recent C3 Visiting Artist at the Dallas Museum of Art, and...
Michelle Matthees Like a barn door wide open: there was your O. Everything else was burned away, no hair, giant puckers inward like a flattened rubber flower. In front of the train station I passed...
Jeffrey Morgan There’s a barn owl that nests somewhere on our street. Reports differ. I’ve named her Ghost Face Junior and will correct people. Imagine her eyes dark marbles in the...
Hunt Hawkins The elevator opens on the 19th floorto a room full of hay, bleating sheep and goats,a loose rooster looking for grain.Through the windows we see the bright Palisadesand in the haze the...
Kira K Homsher Two shirtless teenage boysPlay ball across the street.They dart in and out of my little square of vision,Casting long evening shadows downThe sidewalk. Oh, one of them has dropped The...