by Alexander Hurla I slept on the hardwood floor last night in this house that should have been ours. I hugged my knees the whole time and shivered because the bed we shared is ninety miles away, and a sleeping bag can’t replace you. The only woman in the house now sits on the mantle— a statue…
by Stasha Powell Even then, I wrote delusions, nightmares easier to slip into than face the truth. I traced perfect curves on crooked lines, lost in the rhythm, losing time, punctuation a casualty in the chaos of my mind. I hid secret friends in the cracks of fantasy, their whispers easier to hear than the noise outside. Phone calls…