by Stuart Gunter Written on the back of an old grocery list. Between Muriel Spark’s “The Goose” and Kestenbaum’s Subaru. Between being somewhere and going places. Now here: a poem within a poem, like a rose petal pressed in a Bible as a keepsake for a future art project using…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey I was about to see her again, worry a fist pressing at the back of my neck when I drew up to her front door, in my heart still that flicker of home. Inside the only aunt I had left, a dear soul so close to my…
by David Tuvell You know me, if words hit harder than crack, I’d push them, blow up blocks. Small talk can’t see me. What you’re suggesting, though, there’s no right way to do it. The idea’s like carrying my wallet in the wrong pocket. Sure, to keep a secret, you…
by Lisa Harris A square, a cross, and four directions place us in space and make us stable. We are fixed in a stillness that draws our energy in. Seeking a haven, we read signs and symbols silently. We want a house to hold us the way we hold each…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey On perfect days if you looked through the small oval window you could see an old woman sitting by herself inside her darkened home, a duplex by the road, no front yard but a patch of yellowing grass untouched by the spring. Seldom did fingers of light…
by David Tuvell In the beginning was the text, which had an argument with silence, and this birthed god into the air. There’s a running argument between god and yahweh, between trees and breezes, between Dickinson and Ashbery. We have set up camp here, in a Japanese zen garden, and…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey By the snowy river, its surface of china blue, she lived in a mobile home, outside her door wind chimes of teak and bone. The strong one in her family, taking care of her mother and two younger sisters long after her father had gone. The scent…
by Kyle Heger What would become of you if that buzzing little box were taken from your hands? Would your thumbs go crazy, beating a senseless tattoo on their own, or would they simply pine away to nothing and drop off? Where would your eyes focus? Would you contract nystagmus or…
by Aaron Max Jenson
by Rob Simpson Staring out the window, my senior year of high school, I would hope a friend walked by. When he or she did, I’d have an excuse to ask to use the bathroom, run my schoolmate down, sneak off to smoke a cig. Or talk about boobs. Or…