From the Archives: “Black Cat” by C. L. O’Dell

I grabbed film to catch it, black cat in a grazing field, stalking birds, a buoy in an ocean, a miserable dis- coloration piled loose in a stairwell of thought, un- photographable in its place. Originally published in Spring 2008.

From the Archives: “A Mom Reads Kipling” by Elizabeth Bastos

I am the many-armed goddess of the market-going and market-coming-back-from, a sacred balloon tied to each child’s wrist. Death of shrimp. In the middle of the night, you better believe I am the mongoose. Beside me lies the lump of Man, unconscious, who does not hear (and maybe could never hear) the stirrings of Nag, […]

Poetry: “Prayer” by Charles Rammelkamp

Prayer I don’t believe in God, but when I return home from work, the streets deserted, the sun a fond memory, I always take the shortcut, from the train station, down the dark narrow alley where rats scuttle by piles of garbage, their red eyes glowing like matchheads, the sky a tiny slice between tall […]

Poetry: “Unified Field Theory” by Ted Jean

Unified Field Theory At the high point of Territorial Road just east of Tangent, Paul pulls over, decants some citrus-flavored vodka from a plastic pint in a paper bag to an empty fast-food coffee cup, takes a belt and a deep breath, and watches as the winter sun alights along the scrubby lea beneath Pete’s […]

Poetry: “White Shoes” by Perry Oei

White Shoes How did white shoes become the shoe of seniors, pensioners, like my father and others of the A.A.R.P.-set, men in their seventies who wear them with light gray wool slacks (why waste good pants from their working years), ball cap, and nylon Members Only jacket, with the epaulets, in earth tones, gold or […]

Poetry: “Intermission” by Esteban Rodriguez

Intermission Semi-shrouded behind the tent, and they linger like flies, a half-circle of a handful of clowns, chit-chatting and spitting bits of their red painted lips on the mud-worn ground, nothing like the movie image of their crazed chuckles, defiled teeth, poison-squirt flowers and rusted mini-tricycles squeaking from house to house, snuffing little boys every […]

Poetry: “If I Don’t Get Out There Soon I’ll Die” by Thomas Pescatore

If I don’t get out there soon I’ll die Close as many roads as you like I imagine one straight golden line leading out to the coast through leaning wheat stacked plains and closed snow covered mountain passes, trees taller than the buildings sent to suffocate and teach me to keep my head down, teach […]

Poetry: “Loop” by Thomas Pescatore

Loop I was traveling in a car on a street that was an endless loop like Flintstones background of the same few windows same few doors, I was supposed to do something that I couldn’t —I couldn’t—figure—I stopped and gave a ride to a girl with no face and no memory, when she got in […]

From the Archives: “Postmark” by Christopher Barnes

On second-class stamps Paper-castle margins flake And midmost the queen’s A fossil-punch blueprint. Swash your tongue in slaver, Dribble on sticky gum, Thrust a stop-at-nothing thumbprint, Squash that haughty nose. I’m due a letter. Originally published Winter 2009.

From the Archives: “Return to Sender” by Hilary Vaughn Dobel

Don’t you remember the day it froze, nothing in the pantry but oranges? We broke the ice crust on top of the morning’s snow, ate it in slices like bread. Everything tastes out of season now, and there are hunched little women outside, scattering handfuls of blue salt onto the street. In another pastoral, they […]