POETRY: “LIGHT YEARS” by Laurie Sewall

A being formed/not formed yet
into anything more than an orb
in a photo on our refrigerator—and this
pulsation will one day break
through embryonic sac, her skull […]

POETRY: “December” by Cameron Morse

A lawn of fallen leaves
glints like the Bronze Age.
Shadows carve the dark
out of their own
likeness, […]

POETRY: “PRAISE POEM TO SELF: A Sound Poem from Turkana” by Jacqueline Henry

Jackie! Here’s to you, girl!
To your Voice
Once so stifled, so
Afraid of its own sound
Never saying, “No, no. […]

POETRY: “Farmers’ Fourth, Bucks County, Pa., 1960” by Steve Myers

In kitchens the women
read Revelations,
lean toward black electric fans.
A screen door slams. Out back,
damp slips hang limp from […]

POETRY: “Your Knuckles” by Liz Kingsley

I hope you don’t mind that I’m holding your hand, dear sister-in-law,
I don’t want to hurt you. But these knuckles, I’d know them anywhere.
For such a delicate woman, your knuckles were always so wide, large, bony bumps.
The only large thing about you. I think this is the first time I’ve touched them. […]

POETRY: “STARTING WITH A MIRROR” by Kimberley K. Kelly

I spoke to the mirror
twisted my spine
it curved red ribbon
around a carousel
it cracked beneath […]

REVIEW: Poetry for the Neon Apocalypse by Jake Tringali

Poetry for the Neon Apocalypse by Jake Tringali Transcendent Zero Press, August 2018 Review by Miles White Jake Tringali is a poet based in Boston. Poetry for the Neon Apocalypse is his first collection of poetry. His poem “inside a salem parlor” was published in the Spring 2016 issue of Euphony Journal. I think Jake Tringali wants […]

Poetry: “Velikiye Luki” by Michael Sandler

When arthritis made her wince, she muttered
the town name as metonym for a cold, crowded prison floor—
a journey, world war, and privations away
from the woman I knew: wizened in a faded dress
at her dining table in L.A., her magnifying […]

FICTION: “Night Creatures” by Patricia Meek

We’re parked in the middle of a snow-packed lane where treetops threaten telephone lines. Branches on both sides of the truck are knuckle-twisted and braided in ice. The headlights cushion my father’s draped body, but somewhere down the dark road, light, trees, and wire disappear. It’s midnight and Dad is taking pictures. He’s buried under […]

Poetry: “Raccoon” by Michael Lyle

I watch a raccoon wobble
like a drunk from a bar
in daylight, so maybe he’s rabid
or she is old and confused
too many seasons, litters, […]