By James Croal Jackson I know I know if I can understand you I am an asshole but I want you to do well I want you to write in the sunbarefoot on brick with…
Featured Posts
Mementos
By Jen Drociak I’ve never been much of oneto collect or save mementos;intact slipper shells,angel wings,or even the elusive sea starwashed upon the rocky shore. a perfectly-rounded stonesmoothed by the pummeling ocean wavesor a piece of sea glass, once keeping time in a bottle. Nor even a flower, some may…
Wallflower
By Aynsley Meshanic The phone rang next to her. Wendy closed her eyes, the words of Anthony Burgess now blocked from her view. (Story: A Clockwork Orange. Times read: 2. Times read understanding the language: 1. …Maybe). She took three deep breaths, trying to stop any slight tug on her…
The Things We Owe Each Other
By Jimmy Pappas (This poem contains suicide.) Everyone owed me a call.That’s what she wrote,her suicide note of sortsposted on a sticky padattached to a boxof Christmas presentsshe never mailed out. That’s how it all works,isn’t it? We owe each otherthings: the book we borrowedlong ago that we kept holding…
Tuesday
By James Croal Jackson we again drink through tuesdayon a rooftop around the corner ofwhere we grew up watching trafficnearly crash into every other carat rush hour there’s no room forinterpretation at 6 pm everyonecomes home from work crankythis fucked economy of wakingto pay bills a sunrise for the rich
Making Weight
By Brittany L. McCann (This story contains disordered eating.) The numbers on the digital scale blur through my watery eyes as the Birthday Song is belted out in a possible worst signing voice contest down the hall. I wipe the back of my arm across my eyes and stare down…
A Renaissance Among Scorpions
By Jason Weiland You can almost make out the color of my 1970 AMC Gremlin and the patina of the sun-baked paint combining into a shade that can only be described as puke-yellow. I’m stuck here and haven’t moved since dawn. Car’s pointed west, sure enough. A stretch of Route 66…
Three Climbs
By Sam Grieve Honeymouth The first climb he suggests starts on the Pipe Track. She meets him near the lower cable station. This is before the cable car is redone, before the city reintroduces itself to the world. The old cable car is a rectangular, white box. A thousand feet…
The Angel
By Phibby Venable An angel was perched delicately on the straight back chair in the corner, but everyone pretended not to see her. At least it appeared that way to fifteen – year old Katie, who couldn’t take her eyes off the golden wings and slim figure. “Mama, don’t you…
Every Year
By Hannah Meade My fiancé, Brian, died exactly five years ago today. Five whole years have already passed and still, I feel the heart-wrenching sadness I felt on the day he died. I find myself snuggling back up in my grey sheets, wanting a few more minutes of peace before…