by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
by Jessica Purdy With our husbands, we climb the mine’s walls, to a ledge where moss beds dressed with red flowers cloak the blooming mica, thin glassy sheaves of black and silver, delicate petals, stiff as metal. Our ascent leaves trails of pulverized rock. Mica dust spirited on the air…