John McKernan I sometimes go to sleepWith a white umbrellaSuspended above meIts black spotlightOf shadows blanketingWhat must be calledMy Body Who needs a home?What cries for a roof? ...
John McCarthy I went to church by myself the other day after having given up on God. I swear the light falling through the stained glasslooked like your initials—it even sounded like...
David O’Connell The way bright tulips launch themselves from bulbs and nearly hyperventilate each spring. And how the fair-bound pumpkin swells like some past king announcing gross...
James Miller The priest satnext to meon the planeto Rapid City. He was suffering.Flushed cheeks, clenchedjowls. His ziplocked icehad mostly meltedby the timewe leftthe tarmac. Still,he heldthat...
Isabella Welch It was Sunday night, which, since childhood, was a night of painful malaise for Jon. It started in the morning this time, that tugging. Here you are, old, unwelcome friend, Jon...
Sneha Subramanian Kanta Every journey is a prayer. A pelagic traditionfor the traveler. The wing-field inside a cloud. Ghosts paddle in sphagnum. Fire between sunand hill. Grasslands in the afterglow...
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...
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...
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...
