SUMMER 2013 Put on your mask. Things are going to get a little weird. Things are going to get wonderful.
FICTION by JEN JULIAN In the five years they were married, Nick made an unwilling actress of Gail. He had beheaded her, gouged her, strangled her. He had lain her down in an icy pool and drowned her.
POEM by ALICIA JO RABINS Sometimes you see the leaves as birds who have traveled all night and come to rest at dawn.
NONFICTION by LYNN CASTEEL HARPER We all have histories of fire within. We’ve scorched and been scorched, and burn still.
POEMS by LIZ McGEHEE Today we eat catfish outside of our bodies. / I hold you close like the loose cattle in our / virgin fields.
POEMS by KIT FRICK they smoke because their lungs ache / for the dead air they pity it / home it swaddle it / there is less to say
POEMS by BRANDON LUSSIER Many pears have grown and fallen / since I began to understand pears.
FICTION by CHLOÉ COOPER JONES Under attack, animals sound alike.
POEMS by KATHLEEN McGOOKEY My mother, small below me, opens her red mouth.
FICTION by ELISA FERNÁNDEZ-ARIAS A whale, he wonders. If not a whale, then what?
| mailing list | design by Josh McCall
| mailing list | design by Josh McCall