[obscenity for the advancement of poetry 7]
derision settled into the stone of the place
a tree once living now dying
the practice of killing extended...
Everyday Whimsy
I want my photographs to tell stories. And I want stories that come from moments of life, like a still from an old movie. Movement and pain and the...
Note from the Editor
By now this burgeoning genre of editorial writing, in which we rationalize a shift away from print media, has become familiar enough that we can anticipate its...
Sea Change
Soil and leaves filled the empty human spaces, and always the buzzing of insects. Spider silk and dust and feathers and carapaces accumulated to build...
Cornish Pasty
When Don says, “Wow, she’s good,” I muster up a grudging agreement, but I can taste the bitter wilted greens of envy. I’m already lamenting my lack of...
How the Lake Saved Me
I used to be a young girl, only 18, who had left the East—where I had neither much sinned nor been much sinned to—but had been often tired, and often...