by C.S. Hanson No one is watching. Sometimes it feels like I’m in my own dream. My body wandering among the rooms of this apartment. Here in the living room, I rotate pillows on the two sofas. I move the patterned blue-and-gold ones to opposite ends of the light-blue sofa….
by Emma-Rive Nelson The night was very dark, and very cold, and Lars was waiting in the dunes as the stars shivered into existence up above. His eyes were slow to adjust in the dim, frigid light, but he had spotted what he was looking for–a little bundle folded neatly…
by Jennifer Schallehn (This poem contains domestic abuse.) Your homeboy asked what you liked best about me,and you answered,“She does what I say do.”I’ve got news for you.I did what every boy said to do.I was born to it,laid out for my first baby picturesa welcome mat in rosebuds and…
by Cynthia Good Then it sparked into flame, Christmas in the fire pit, a burst three times the size when it stood in the den festooned in bows, the Fraser Fir— a shooting spiral of tangerine light. What should we burn next? you ask. Let’s burn…
by Ken Poyner You would never imagine how truly awkward this cape is. It is standard schlock for a superhero, so I use it. You would not expect a man who could deftly see through stone, deflect both dull lead and classy copper clad bullets, and bend-without-breaking riotous egg shells…
by Cynthia Good So long cell tower dish sneaking inthe bedroom window, so longto saying thank you to taxi doorsheld open to slide across sticky seats.So long to dragging our bodies into roomswhere we don’t want to go, into argumentsthat aren’t our own. So long to tryingnot to wake the…
by Michelle Askin The building at night. My hand tracing the greyish-white veining of the brown marble. The door left ajarso that I inhale the cigarette ash, chlorine,and the soaked rum from the forgotten cakeon the chained metal mailboxes. Palm treesrowed to the elevator as if to say that within…
by Ed Davis The first time I caught a freight train, it felt as if I had learned how to fly. One minute I was anchored to the ground—feet in the gravel, backpack weighing me down—the next I was moving through space, transported not by wings but by tons of…
by Jeffrey Kingman after Kerouac’s “On the Road” she went out in the mud to find a head between his knees the two foggy bundles wandered there together from the steps of the motel court alone mixing up their boys a prowl car came by possessions moved along self-propelled hunchbacks…
by Frank Jamison Y’all don’t know the whole story, and I can’t tell it all here. It’s too long. But Elbert Wiggins was killed in Hatchie Landing a long time ago. Two men, Malcolm Oakes and Bennie Hoskins, had something to do with it. My June’s husband, Nathan, died in…