by E.J. Fawn A girl stands before me, donning a cobalt-colored dress. She turns to me silently, eclipsed in the typhoon of sundry blues, “Does this look good?” She asks me, hair fashioned in buns uneven. This girl is my friend, so frankly, I tell her no. The dress—we admire—has…
by John Cody Bennett January, a new semester, a new section of Modern American Fiction: I’m in my blazer and my tie at the head of the table as students fill seats in the seminar room and wait for class to begin. We start with names ― Dylan, Eli, Jasmine,…
by Jess Earl Tomorrow comes and the thing behind my headboard scuttles along the drywall, scales chipping paint as it stretches a claw from the shadows above my pillowed head, only to retreat as I open my eyes. “Good morning,” it creaks in the floorboards of the house, “I’ve been…
by Brooke Gebhardt You’ve never seen the worlduntil you’ve seen your mother cry. When pale white knucklesgrip the kitchen sink as she questionswhether to let you see. When hazel mixes with crimson, staringback at you, sparklingwith fresh tears. When lips quiver and shoulders shake,attacking the walls of your heart and…
by Antonio Eramo If fools rush in where angels fear to treadthen angels know not love nor sacrifice.I battle with this fool inside my headand try to seek out words to be concise.Yet heart cannot express through mere devicejust how divine life is when you are there.When you are there…
by Russell Rowland Sketchy is the restroomin this ramshackle arcade—almosta closet, dark—still, she has to go.Granddaughter, eight, insistsGrampy accompany her. I do— softened at her own wayof being those years young, her faiththat an elder man, retired,unremarkable, divorced, can causethe world to seem a safer place. Once we’re both inside,…
by Amanda Valerie Judd Despite its reputationas an early riser,I imagine there must be days,at least one or two,when even the Sunyawns in protestat the hourit must open the curtainson another morning.
by Marah McCarty she is quiet within her skin,although there is no definition for demureness in the Garden.she does not need to be courageous,feel the adversity which make women stagnate toGod’s greater plan.she is supple and pink,a canvas of the most impractical womanand mankind’s most perfect.he is robust, with large…
by DS Maolalai little to say to eachother this morning.the woman who will bemy wife sips her coffee,eats toast, eats a pieceof fried egg off a fork.I shovel a mess from my plate,fold a badly madesandwich, falling apartlike the buildings outside.but for now it’s stillfunctional – I get it upinto…
by Robert Beveridge (This poem contains a mention of animal death.) Two more crowslandbeside the corpseof the deerhit twodays ago