Prose: “Plastic Memories,” by Daniel Clausen

Dave Sutton had been in Nagasaki a little over two months when his Japanese teacher finally invited him over for dinner. Dave had been getting ten to twenty minutes of extra conversation practice during lunch time with him after his morning classes every school day. Slowly they had built a rapport. Dave was in Nagasaki […]

Poetry: “Close,” by Tor Strand

Since we looked at each other and couldn’t
make much of anything.

How are we ever supposed to
with hands unable to hold more than

Prose: “Death Cannot Part Them,” by Maiah Jezek

“Death Cannot Part Them” is the winner of Euphony‘s 2025 prose contest, which has a theme of “Endings.” Ellis shook herself from her tangled bed sheets and rushed to snatch the shrill telephone from its hook. It had been ringing nonstop all morning; savagely disrupting the precious few hours of sleep she’d managed. The only […]

Poetry: “Who is calling?” by Johnny Elder

One night, a cold night, he drove through the dark, investigating the convenience of a plain of
no rocks or cavities, of the mildest undulations, the gentlest of seas, for this was an oceanic

Poetry: “Saturday Evenings,” by Peter Cashorali

On Saturday evenings time ends but we keep going.
The furniture runs out and the empty rooms go on without it.
Not empty– full of sadness and weird pain, appetites that don’t know what they want but insist that it’s something.

Prose: “The End of Craftsmanship,” by Arthur Mandal

He has been living on the edge of the desert for nearly fourteen years. There is very little to distract him. A truck stop and a gas station, about a mile down the road. A small strip of shops a further mile in the same direction. North of there, nothing for a good four hundred […]

Poetry: “Fall or fly?” by Trevor Cunnington

for Bernice Gardner, may she RIP

Ringed around the rosy twilight park,
A cocoon on a leaf falls through the dark.
It lands on wet asphalt streets above the bulwark

Poetry: “A Fragment Lost,” by James R. Hannah

Night relaxes its eastern hand
Dawn inches forth, Quiet a vigil keeps.
The house about me now is still.
I sort through words while my lady yet sleeps.

Prose: “Archaeology,” by Ronald Fink

The ceramic Aztec mask on my wall is one of my few physical reminders of a Chilean uncle who died in exile in Mexico City almost two decades ago, two weeks after I informed him of the death of his favorite sister, my mother, some two thousand miles away. The other reminders are fading images […]

Poetry: “On Remembering the Polished Jewel in My Pocket,” by Frank LaRussa

I.
In the fall morning sky, high above the white glaze
of the brown mountain range, a raven would fly.
She’d flutter then plunge through the dawn light and fog
over fields filled with songs of the killdeer and dove –