by Matt Bearden
It should be dehydrated now,
at least enough to not make a mess
on the floor. Still, it hangs
in the corner like a cocoon. Continue reading
by Matt Bearden
It should be dehydrated now,
at least enough to not make a mess
on the floor. Still, it hangs
in the corner like a cocoon. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Erin Matheson Ritchie
Michelle divorces her husband and passes
a decidual cast the same week, her body
expelling eight years’ entropy with a vise grip
cramp more painful than the split. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Jacalyn Shelley
After the wind’s fingertips
find their way through our walls,
after the furnace’s cold exhale
wakes us from our nestled warmth, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by John Brantingham
Clare sees the branch lying on the road that looks like it could pop someone’s tire or crack and break a windshield or something. It’s on the bridge over the mostly frozen Chadokoin River. The bridge has iced over enough that Clare doesn’t trust her feet walking home. She’s holding onto the retaining wall to make sure she doesn’t slip. Her mother would yell at her if she came home with black slush on her pants. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Elianna Genevieve
here’s savannah bay, the apple-pink
mooring ball, the great bear spinning above us
eleven-hundred miles to the woman in the panhandle house
your steadfast wife and her arrow of a heart Continue reading
Filed under Poetry