by Robert L. Penick
I am the only house left after the tornado introduces a new order to the neighborhood. Other dwellings, greater and lesser, have been multiplied and extrapolated across lawns, streets, and sidewalks. “Is this entropy?” I wonder, as my windows gaze out over the recent diffusion of order. Things are not what they used to be, but this is certain: Zillow listings will need to be updated. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Michael C. Smith
I thought he could get up, the man
who fell in the checkout line three
customers in front of me. I thought someone knew
what to do. But it was two days before
Christmas and no one had any nerves left. Continue reading
by Craig Loomis
“John, can you hear me? John? John, sad to say but you’ve done it yet again. You are not reading the brochure. On page number six it states very clearly: ‘leaves, twigs, mowed grass go into the green bin.’ The operative word here being ‘Green’. John, can you hear me? I know you’re there.” Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Elisabeth Murawski
An animal ruff soft as Belgian lace.
It will never touch my neck,
this remnant of doomed fox. She
wore it to church Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Robin E. Field
The green apron shields her muʻumuʻu from splashes of whole milk, oat milk, almond milk, the steamed milk and cold foam that crown the cups of coffee at the Starbucks on Waikīkī. Her name badge reads Lydia. Regal before the espresso machine, she sways the steam wand through the milk, graceful, precise, hips undulating before the song of steam. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
