Oscar McHale The hill is privy to her last, relentless pour, Bathing blades of grass as she rests her golden hair, Entangling, obscuring...

Sandy Carlson “It seems, as one becomes older That the past has another pattern And ceases to be a mere sequence,”* So it seems tumbling...

John Muro Shoreline is shrinking and the shuttered cottages are ghosted by mists drifting upward from channels of mud-softened marsh like...

Madison Bigelow You made chicken or fish. I can’t recall, but I see your hands cradling a casserole dish covered in cornflowers; Hot days...

Frank C. Modica My brother and I walk to a park after watching a cartoon about Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn rafting on the Mississippi River....

Sophie Archambault Every mother loving loving mother on every page is dead slaughtered by sons slithering out the womb done in by...

David Epstein Loan me that book you talked about, where the birds rise in waves. The one with windows open in winter, that the author...

Mike Veve on sugar hill, not calvary comes december’s crown of ashes a solstice sunrise over the scarred trunks and shaddai beseeching...

Stephanie Pushaw I write this at the close of my third year of a PhD program in literature and creative writing in Houston, Texas, a city...

Ara Hagopian I’m on drugs and I am desperate to close this gap between us. The gap between reader and writer is too wide. It feels...

Rose Malone Celine shivered in the unaccustomed chill of an Irish late October morning. This, the damp coolness and muted light, was what...

Amber Smith This is the story of a small city that is easily forgotten. A small second-rate American city with a sports stadium no one...

Christopher Miguel Flakus I moved into a new apartment in Colonia Lindavista on calle Bogota. Not the most chic neighborhood in Mexico...

Lee Parpart Swiss-born Robert Walser enjoyed some success as a writer in the 1920s, but spent the rest of his life in a mental hospital,...

Jim Schepker “You kids quiet down up there or I’m gonna come up there and tear your arms off and beat you with the bloody ends of ‘em,”...

Harry Lowther I’m in and out as I climb the steps, and before I know it he’s there, waiting above me, fuzzy-eyed in a dressing gown....