Sara Pirkle Hughes: “A Simile for His Name”
Sara Hughes A Simile for His Name Just as whiskey takes the shape of a hip flask, his name takes the shape of my mouth, the brown honey of each syllable lingering on my tongue, and the risk I take...
View ArticleMaisie Williams: “Poem #1”
Maisie Williams Poem #1: I fell for you like jumping off the roof which is to say I measure love by the distance to the concrete. The Maisie Williams who wrote this poem is not the one you’re thinking...
View ArticleJon Densford: “MEMENTO MORI “
Jon Densford MEMENTO MORI (Found in the Syllabus Philosophy 176: Death, Open Yale Courses) “There will be no final exam.” Jon Densford of Memphis, TN, thinks you should listen to Caroline Bergvall read...
View ArticleHowie Good: “Rain City”
Howie Good Rain City Just because some days are better than others doesn’t mean any day is particularly good, like today when the tinny sound of rain overlays everything we say and windows frame trees...
View ArticlePearl Pirie: “Toddler”
Pearl Pirie Toddler Running her finger over the memorial stone singing the ABC song. Pearl Pirie is a perpetual inertia machine glad for the tiny creatures of compost of Ottawa.
View ArticleWilliam Cullen, Jr.: “I Could Have Used Queequeg”
William Cullen, Jr. I Could Have Used Queequeg I put one foot forward in front of the other heel to toe and count the paces off to indicate the size of the plot I’d like to buy. The author’s poetry has...
View ArticleDavid James: “Solution”
David James Solution I wrote her a poem and she said, ‘I hate poetry’ and I said, ‘OK, just read the words then.’ David James lives in Atlanta where he reads a lot and writes not a lot.
View ArticleMatt Rouse: “Fallen Heroes”
Matt Rouse Fallen Heroes She threw her Captain America towel down dramatically at the edge before she cannonballed into the pool and now she won’t stop complaining that she is cold. Matt Rouse lives in...
View ArticleAlan Toltzis: “Without a Trace”
Alan Toltzis Without a Trace If only I were tubes and hollows, some vast landscape of regimented purpose coursing under aging skin, hurt and need would travel untrackable within me, the ground...
View ArticleSarah Valeika: “Religious Fervor”
Sarah Valeika Religious Fervor “He’s not a scary, creepy guy,” my sister says of God. Sarah Valeika is a poet, actress, typewriter fanatic and grateful daughter and sister.
View ArticleGil Hoy: “Presidential Temperament”
Gil Hoy Presidential Temperament A radioactive red wheel barrow loses its dependability when glazed with black rain beside the dead chickens. Gil Hoy is a Boston trial lawyer and poet.
View ArticleA note from the editors
This is not an anniversary of the founding of this journal. We haven’t just posted some big round number of posts. It’s just a Friday night in North America and we are moved to take this moment to...
View ArticleJohn McDermott
John McDermott Polysyndeton: A Love Story for Audrey And the girl at the breakfast table has her mother’s eyes and my crooked mouth and hair like the braid cut from my grandmother a century ago, brown...
View ArticleMatt Rouse: 2 poems
Matt Rouse (2 poems) THE WISDOM OF BONNIE (AGE 7) If you drink from the tap, you’ll grow three heads. THE WISDOM OF LOIS (AGE 8) Never stand in front of a Pikachu with a cold. When Matt Rouse writes...
View ArticleMegan Collins: “Lethe”
Megan Collins Lethe She went to the water to drown an old love, but it clung to her body like the wet white lace of her dress. Megan Collins is a writer, teacher, and editor who lives in Connecticut.
View ArticleMegan Collins: “When Athena Can’t Sleep”
Megan Collins When Athena Can’t Sleep She remembers her father’s skull, how her armor grew from bone, how the days spent whipped by his pulse never undid her skin. Megan Collins is a writer, teacher,...
View ArticleMegan Collins: “The Comedian’s Tears”
Megan Collins The Comedian’s Tears I couldn’t help but see them as translucent bullets loaded into the chambers of her eyes, couldn’t help but think that to blink would be to pull the trigger, to prove...
View ArticleJason M. Vaughn: “The Razor”
Jason M. Vaughn The Razor glides across the dance floor of your skin, and sometimes it cuts in. Jason M. Vaughn lives and writes in Burbank, CA.
View ArticleLaura Sweeney: “Home Was Not a Norman Rockwell”
Laura Sweeney Home Was Not a Norman Rockwell God is great, God is good, and I thanked Him for my food, my mother to my left, my father to my right, as we sat around the table by the portrait of the...
View ArticleBarry Marks: “Life. In Metric Feet.”
Barry Marks Life. In Metric Feet. The I am that is life moves from proud trochee to adamant iamb to the last pyrrhic dance to silence. Barry Marks is facing reality one sentence at a time.
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