Tony Press Invisibility From my bench in the old town square, El Zocalo, I enjoy the smiles and sways of the young women but their vision does not include me, so I sip with my memory and ignore any abuelas who might look my way. Tony Press lives near San Francisco and tries to pay […]
Read MoreTony Press July in Burlington The river carries his ashes south and we scatter, too, back to California and Colorado and other corners of Iowa, but really, all the same place. Tony Press lives near San Francisco and tries to pay attention.
Read MoreGwen Hart June Galaxy Off to the side of the gravel road, white clover in the field are dusty at dusk, almost like stars, except we can step over the dark fence and brush them, brighten them, with our hands. Gwen Hart has won prizes ranging from Best Bubble-Gum Blower to the Golden Scoop Award […]
Read MoreDeonte Osayande Traffic The other cars on the road cut us off, forcing the awkward silence associated with the wait in the cab longer than expected which prompts the driver to ask what kind of people we’d be interested in buying if he were selling and this wasn’t just “an odd hypothetical”. Deonte Osayande is […]
Read MoreDeonte Osayande Fear & Forgiveness My mother prays for the hate to be removed from the hearts of so many in this country before I realize how we lack even somewhere safe enough for us to do that. Deonte Osayande is a writer, instructor and former sprinter from Detroit, Michigan.
Read MoreHowie Good Real Cool You can’t tell whether we’re upside down or right side up, you can’t tell what’s here, a typo or gilt lettering on glass, but those real cool sounds are coming, like when we were young and did it anytime, anywhere (floor, office chair, shower), only with a yes and incidental light. […]
Read MoreTrish Saunders When You Have Reached the Trying Age Clap along, if you can still feel your hands and no one has pinned your mittens to your coat. Trish Saunders writes poems from Honolulu and Seattle and, in her imagination, from the shores of Crescent Lake.
Read MoreTrish Saunders No Idea How I Got Here Was I yelling just now? she asks the busboy as he collects the plates in silence. Trish Saunders writes poems from Honolulu and Seattle and, in her imagination, from the shores of Crescent Lake.
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