Anne Graue I am not quite ready to leave because leaving would mean losing time spent watching The Great British Baking Show and would mean I would miss watching someone bake and construct a 3-tier meringue or a gingerbread pub with stained glass windows and a sticky sweet floor or watching someone leave their bread […]
Read MoreLaura Tarasoff Abnegate Save some of your bad for something really good. Laura Tarasoff loves a great burger, a rolling laugh and talking to everyone.
Read MoreRon. Lavalette Inspiration Twice in a day and a half he’s almost certain he hears it: the voice of an angel speaking from just around the corner as if from some great distance seeming almost lost in recitation almost inaudible telling some cosmic joke or posing a celestial riddle, repeating the words hoodwink, subterfuge, flabbergast. […]
Read MorePeggy Turnbull Country Boy After our long welcome-back kiss he spun away from me to paw the ground like a bull saying howdy to a matador, flapped his elbows like an Oktoberfest Chicken Dancer, stuck out his chin like a bugler at dawn, whirled back to me and grinned, “You’re smiling! You’re smiling!” all the […]
Read MoreKeith Hoerner Twin Brother, mirror of me, wewereconjoined, and though sep arated, in ways imperceptible, weremainedattached. Keith Hoerner lives, teaches, and pushes words around in St. Louis, Missouri.
Read MoreKelsey Sorge The Lonely When The Lonely grew too large, she locked it in the closet and fed it loose buttons and wads of hair raked from her hairbrush, wrapped it safe and sound in the arms of her grandmother’s old sweater so that at night, when it thought she was sleeping, it would sing […]
Read MoreMark Butler Dead Minus e = Dad It’s grim work this feeling nothing when your father dies 40 years after you last saw him, his turned back spurning you more familiar than his face ever would be, as if you’re mourning not for him, but for grief, yet another thing he denied you. Born in […]
Read MoreOri Fienberg Deserting Our Ancestors Land grows up and loses its parents: the wetlands forgotten for low-slung shrubs– and here’s another beach, orphaned by the water, trying to find purpose. Ori Fienberg’s poetry and prose have appeared in The Cincinnati Review, Essay Daily, and Subtropics, among others: read more at <orifienberg.com>.
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