by Craig Cotter
Tapped him on the shoulder and handed him
my chewed grape gum—
he didn’t smile,
looked in my eyes,
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Alex and Me at the Beach as Teenagers
Filed under Poetry
Life Is Not a Novel
by Paula Goldman
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” you say
rolling over when I tell you
Molly and Leopold Bloom slept
head to tail end, stopped
having sex.
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Before the Surgery
by Lauren Claus
While you rest and remain, those branches
burn. The smoke reminds me of singing.
Our lake is safe, but it’s the scab of sea,
nothing much to miss. We were in its waves
when you told me how the Greeks could have
set us on fire. Each day I dream, your face a fire,
Shelter
by Daniel Uncapher
Shelter’s got some really good ideas but I don’t always know what to make of them.
We met on a dating app, which he says he uses strictly for technical inspiration with the single exception of my case specifically, and it was his idea to delete the app together.
I’d been experimenting with the concept of dispossession in general and loved the idea. I went ahead and deleted my news app, too, after reading that 357 whales beached themselves again in New Zealand and no one can say why the sweet saps did it.
Filed under Fiction
Since I Still Have the Key To Your House
by Chrys Tobey
which used to be our house, the key I’ve offered to return, but
you insisted, Keep it in case you want to visit the cats, and since
Hawaii Pacific Review 