by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
by Khristy Knudtson The Midwest region of the United States garners a reputation that is unlike any other. Wisconsin, where I have lived all of my life, embodies airs of apologetic pleasantries in almost every interaction. This concept of “Midwestern nice” is a pervasive descriptor of the Midwestern people—it defines…
by Khristy L. Knudtson Willfully strong-willed, your hair is a field; stalks of tangled straw you force from your head freeing the strands from your fingersover and over and over. They eclipse the tile floor of the juvie centeryou’ve lost it, your center. You are a lit match—tossed.An apocalyptic comet of…
by Khristy Knudtson Flying on frontage roads,sipping iced coffee,and carbonated water,thrift-store findsstuffed in the hatchback. Two 30-somethingsignored their latestexistential crisesfor a sunset, a summer high,singing Third Eye Blind and The Cardigans.
by Khristy L. Knudtson I focused and realized your face has not looked this beautiful since I was a child and since I was your “Muffin.”I focused and realized your face has not looked this beautiful since it was illuminated in the middle of these crosshairs.The smooth, crescent moon of the trigger carressed…
by Khristy L. Knudtson I spend five days of my seven educating teenagers pretending I’m not an emotional delinquent with the same “mommy issues” as the boy with the overgrown yellow hair in the back row with the newly minted scars. He radiates pain like a nuclear bomb everywhere he…