Featured Writing

Cell phone on an unmade bed

An unsent drunk text during no contact

by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…

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Author Archive

The Farm Hand

By: Patrick R. Roden There was a dense, low hanging fog forming on the grounds of the Maine State Prison in Thomaston. This time of year, late fall, was notorious for such occurrences. In a few weeks time, this entire lawn would be covered with blankets of fresh snow, but…

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