Ila Railkar The Game For the game of twenty dollars he picked three cards, trembling, out of the deck laughing in joy at the three aces and did not see the dealer’s grin when he next bet forty. Ila Railkar lives in India, where she hoards books, learns how stuff works, and enjoys writing. […]
Read MoreCorey Mesler About Love I’d rather write about love, about my wife’s hand taking mine for no good reason except that yesterday the world didn’t end, and today feels as solid as the earth’s first kings. Corey Mesler has published 30 books of prose and poetry and appears in many anthologies, which is somewhat uncommon […]
Read MoreCorey Mesler Turn It’s a cold and distant mummery that limns my life and calls itself me. Corey Mesler has published 30 books of prose and poetry and appears in many anthologies, which is somewhat uncommon in Memphis, Tennessee, where, with his wife, he runs one of the oldest bookstores in America.
Read MoreCorey Mesler The Dog Sleeps The dog sleeps in a small curl, her work for the day done, her appetite for living becoming the cartoons of dreams, still running, like she did as a puppy, toward something large and unknowable. Corey Mesler has published 30 books of prose and poetry and appears in many anthologies, […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar Forgive Us We have eaten the sunrise, eaten the smoke, and broken faith with the dirt. Steve Klepetar was going to tell his granddaughter a joke about Latin nouns, but then he declined.
Read MoreAlan Toltzis Cutting Jasmine Open edges weeping, clutter of bud, leaf, and twig scatter across walkways, while a clatter of outcry spits fitfully from the mouth of a leaf blower, gusting dust and grit into swirls of tangled sweetness and gas fumes, cuts and nicks already blending in. After a lifetime in Philadelphia, Alan Toltzis […]
Read MoreLarry D. Thomas The Scribe The scribe labored by the light of day or candle, clutching his quill, dipping it in ink and scratching each flawless letter on the skin of sheep or goat, deeding to his craft each grueling decade of his life, his sole extravagance the occasional, well-timed flourish of a letter of […]
Read MoreCyril Wong Childhood My father is divided from me by light and water and when he beckons me into the pool to swim, I almost believe I may reach one foot out across the glassy world and walk on water to him. Cyril Wong is a poet and fictionist in Singapore.
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