by Hayley Russell Behind the old house stood the tree where endings went to rest, its branches curled like open hands, offering and releasing in the same breath. Each fall, I traced the edges of every leaf, memorizing the slow surrender, green to gold, gold to rust, rust to the soft crumble of becoming earth again. It taught me more than anyone ever managed about the art of leaving: that release is…
by Ophelia Knight I / have come to a halt / here the men are thin with yearning / not the kind that you remember the kind that lingers in bones when they are no more / dust in wooden boxes plated in faux silver 6 days I have walked…
by Samuel Goldsmith my mind is listed as two beds two baths but calling that closet a bed is a stretch even when i spend all night there. the square footage includes the basement place to store spores and incomplete ideas dreams and goals sans posts the only quarter of the abode in constant use where the crass cut-grass smell of power can be found. not near enough to nip…