by Jennifer Ward I remember the winter I turned ten most of all. One Sunday, my father stood by the front door in his worn blue coat, a coffee mug in his hand. The faint smell of whiskey lingered between us, bitter as a broken promise. I tried to look past…
by Jennifer Ward I remember the winter I turned ten most of all. One Sunday, my father stood by the front door in his worn blue coat, a coffee mug in his hand. The faint smell of whiskey lingered between us, bitter as a broken promise. I tried to look past…
by Gracie Jones You lean in— our noses almost touch as you fog the glass between us. Your features shift, melting into the mist. The familiar smile ripples, loosens until you become unrecognisable. With one finger you carve your mask into the haze: poking two eyes, a little nose, a wobbly grin. Then stare across, through what you’ve made a changed man.
by Shannon Brown They say bad things come in threes. Instead of waiting for what will happen next, We wonder how many threes there will be this year. That’s not a test of will towards the universe As much as a desperate plea for mercy. We wave the white flag, Wondering if our whimper will be heard. And…
by Jen Drociak Something happened in the spruce tree under the cloak of darkness Something happened in the spruce tree to which no human bore witness In the tree where only the northern mockingbirds nest In the tree where only predator and prey can attest Underneath the tree each week I’d wake to find the feather of a crow …
by Reyna Espinoza What will you tell your children when they are grown and ask who you were? Will you tell them the truth? Will you tell them you were cruel? Will you tell them you enforced the rules? “I did my duty,” you’ll say, as if duty were blameless, as if obedience absolved you, as if a…
by Reyna Espinoza I was born of sunrise and pesticides,of strawberries and struggles.I was raised with sunburnsand church on Sunday,where my knees memorizedthe wood of the prie-dieu,where prayers were counted, not answered,and hope stayed lowered,like a head that forgot how to rise. I was cared for by hands in the…
by Ed Schad Tony the Tiger began to groan free of his box, pacing, padding, rushing down to disrupt the morning table. Great though he was, his flakes also great, he increased, deepened, outstretched his cartoon lines out of the world of toys to stride into blood and hair and skin, leaving the cardboard a scratch-and-sniff of musk and urine, a…
by Kenneth Pobo I turn off the computer and watch the moon through a half-closed venetian blind— then head to bed. Sometimes I can’t sleep because I fear dreaming. Last night I dreamed I was teaching again. Sex interrupted my words like a stoplight on a highway. What will I dream tonight? The quiet comforts. No crickets. Maybe I’ll dream of my mother, a…
by Kenneth Pobo My favorite is a list of my top songs. Almost 3000 titles. The shortest are by the DC5. The longest is “MacArthur Park.” The grocery list bores me. We discuss at martini time what I should pick up—the list, a firm jaw. At the store I forget three items. The list has holes. I don’t make a list of chores. That would be a…
by Kenneth Pobo our white sweet pea curls up and above the top. We don’t let the gate swing open for fear of breaking it, no longer use the back door until frost fells the vine. My cousin says we’re foolish—why cater to a vine? Oh well, we never did much like her anyway. A vine offers no opinions, makes no demands. Climb. That’s what it does— and so well….