How We Wear Our Weight

by Hannah Allen

As a child, I thought I was God.
So when dark and humid air lay into us
at a gas station in Havana, Arkansas
near the base of Mount Magazine
as my father stood outside
to pump fuel, raised his fists, and sang
angry hymns to God, I thought he
was speaking to me. Continue reading

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Grandpa Dug a Hole Beneath the Tangerine Tree

by Daryl Muranaka

Beneath the tree
he digs a hole
wide and deep
to bury the hina dolls
packed carefully, gently,
into their wooden boxes
as if they were
the very baby
they belong to.

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Waiting for Content

by Nancy Ford Dugan

They came in the night and took our values.

Someone (in the mailroom? from the cleaning service?) stripped all the plexiglass stands on each desk of the teal-blue sheet of paper that proudly listed all our corporate values.

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The Hero Wakes up in a White Room

by D.S. Maolalai

You’ve seen it before.
They say a lot of writers
begin
with something like it,
because they are looking
at starting
on a white page,
and I believe them,
because most writers
are nothing
if not suggestible.

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Childless

by Natalie Crick

I lost six children here in the wood.
Even now, I see
bright hair flashes in pools of sun;
babies’ hair.
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