Dave Read Multitudes It was less the taste of the dandelion wine and more the fear that drinking too much would flower my hair into a mop of white seeds I couldn’t contain in a wind, letting a multitude of Daves sprout throughout town with my place in the community suddenly redundant. Dave writes short […]
Read MoreMelissa Fu That Sinking Feeling I’m no seer, but I can spot a shipwreck from oceans away, and if you name your boat the HMS Terror, you’re asking for trouble, and if your flagship is called the HMS Erebus, then you really can’t expect anything but descent. Melissa Fu is fascinated by the recent discovery of the HMS Terror, 168 years after […]
Read MoreLaura Ingram The Incessancy of Equinox Dandelions remain the vintage stole of graves. Laura Ingram is a tiny girl with large glasses.
Read MoreTricia Knoll Old Marrieds In the time we have we say so much eye to eye that we hear both the house settle and the dog sigh as she turns circles to find her rest. Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet whose collections include Ocean’s Laughter (AldrichPress, 2016) and a chapbook Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press, 2014). Website: triciaknoll.com
Read MoreJohn Newson In Memoriam Even the dignity of the mason’s chisel will decay in time. John Newson possesses a wide-ranging variety of skills but sadly they are mostly of no practical use, so he writes occasional dribblings to try and make up fo this mildly disappointing state of affairs.
Read MoreJohn Newson Epitaph Condensation thumbed from cut glass tumblers left ringworm scars on his mother’s table. John Newson possesses a wide-ranging variety of skills but sadly they are mostly of no practical use, so he writes occasional dribblings to try and make up fo this mildly disappointing state of affairs.
Read MoreTom Fugalli This Statement Has Not Been Evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration Sometimes I imagine I am giving a speech at an awards ceremony, having just been honored for a lifetime’s achievement, when, looking out at the audience mid- sentence, I see the ghost of my childhood self, tapping the face of his colorful […]
Read MoreJulie Reeser Meditation What is the distance required for the noise of children to mimic the ocean like drops of laughter rising and falling while church bells mark the hour? Julie Reeser wanders from webpage to willow grove seeking an elusive bit of contrapuntal narrative to spark her work.
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