Rebecca Faulkner I am trying to remember — corners of your newspaper curled in a November breeze, mothballs in your herringbone tweed. Stubborn grief, my coat pulled tight....
Elizabeth J. Wenger when i think of quentin tarantino i think of revenge dressed in tight yellow leather carving a katana through the script. blood squirts like hershey’s syrup from the screen //...
Stacey Balkun even after the sun lifts & does its best to burn off the fog risen around our clearing it clings to the banks bruised by your hipbones by the hard ground still...
Bellee Jones-Pierce When your ex-fiancé calls you should be busy. Let him feel the lush delight of interrupting something. Have soapy hands, something risky and pungent...
Adam Houle I swear I’ll leave your ass in Tennesseewith the trumpet vines and BarcaLoungersslumping under carports. Maybe at a BPnear the bottom of a hill, where a state roadcurves that way and a...
Laura Meyer We don’t talk about babies anymoreAnd we haven’t been drunk together in ten years. My friend tells me about a strategy for receiving long-term care in your home.I tell myself: You...
Kathryn Bratt-Pfotenhauer It is the season of thinning out the herd, and I am leaving Brooklyn. October is in the city: bright colorful leaves and a track fire on the J, stalling all trains.Over...
