by Jess Earl Mama told me that thunder is just the sound of angels bowling. The angel outside my window doesn’t have hands but maybe it just can’t bowl, like how Katie can’t eat peanut butter. The angel doesn’t look like the ones in Mama’s paintings; it looks like a…
by Lisa Harris Perhaps you see a globe: You think, a world is round; a world spins. Continents are misshapen feet, and all around them lies blue water, the color of a Scandinavian’s eyes. Perhaps you see a million faces, a blur of non-photogenic humanity, a smear of intention, like…
By Hali Morell “Can I ask you one more thing?” It’s the last three minutes of my psychic reading, and I have been saving it for last…out of both fear and denial. My hands are clenched, and I’ve stopped inhaling the fresh summer air blowing through the coffee shop. A…