by Steph Spector
It doesn’t matter whether you’re on a hundred yards of turf stamped with the seal of our alma mater, or standing on a bluff overlooking a creek, cinnamon whiskey on the brain. It’s the curl-bend-whip of your wrist that makes them fly so fast and so willingly. It’s something like a turntable needle when it kisses a record, crackles, and sings. Continue reading
by Steve Coughlin
He was the bedroom, the Black Sabbath poster thumbtacked to the wall. He was the unmade twin bed and dirty sheets my grieving mother refused to wash. He hovered outside the second-story window. My dead brother watching as I turned out his cracked lamp. Continue reading
by Mia Sara
My gangling pale
telling me lies
as I drive downhill.
“They need me,” he says.
the bloated buddy,
dumped again, Continue reading
by Matt Mason
It’s time to just admit
I don’t speak the language.
I’ve traveled through relationships
like a man walking the Champs Elysees
wearing peach shorts and a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt
who, in each boutique, shouts:
“One. I. Want. One. Of these. Comprende?”
while seeming to pantomime the drama of fencepost digging. Continue reading
by Edythe Haendel Schwartz
Pahoehoe lava shelf. Blue skies.
Wind on our tongues, we speak of her,
brace ourselves to meet each jolt of memory–
how her fingers could pull octopi
from holes. Wind on our tongues, we speak
of heart, of ribs the surgeons pulled apart
the way her fingers would pull octopi
from holes. Surgeons tried to fix the fault Continue reading