Non-Contest Submissions: “Desire” (Issue 75) UPDATE: We have re-opened non-contest submissions for fiction, nonfiction and poetry for the next two weeks, until Saturday, November 10th, 2018. Submit! Contest Submissions: “Desire” (Issue 75) Submission Period: September 24th – November 5th Finalist Judges: Jo Ann Beard – Nonfiction Contest Nicole Walker – Flash Prose
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Though it should mean without bears,bearless means barren. The opposites of word, according to thesaurus.com,question, silence, breach, break, quiet. Quixotic comes from Don Quixote,a book I have not read. First known concordance
Martha McCollough’s new book, Trash Witch, is forthcoming from Lily Poetry Review Books in February 2025. She is the author of Wolf Hat Iron Shoes (Lily Poetry Review Books 2022) and the chapbook Grandmother Mountain (Blue Lyra 2019). Her
as a man gathering flowersbeside the road, his totaledcar smoking in a ditch. dear lord, you can yank my chain as hard as you want,even if it hurts, as long as it
After “Good Bones” by Maggie Smith Life is short, and I cannot keep thisfrom my children. Life ends with one breath,and my children, though young, know too muchof endings. I have no
Low Tide at the Double Bluff Off-Leash Area / General Anesthesia Unexpectedly, a bit of tissue passes Lynne Ellis writes in pen. Their words appear in North American Review, Poetry Northwest, The Seventh
Ode to Good-Bye The moon was whole but thought itself
Rescue cans stick in the sand like safety orange graves. They lean towards the sea, mercury-still and prickedwith bright-capped swimmers. I’m insubstantial in the heat, a voice that sweats. I can almost hear the
today i look the half-pigin its eyes enteringthe cooler it stares from the icy lower shelf& asks what i am grateful for fragile things end up in pieces back here& pieces
still life with candle in the event that you’ve lost me in the dead / of winter—know i am probably somewhere tryingto stay lost. probably somewhere / in the middle of eating
High Notes are scarce in “Mooo!” but whatever,Lover and I interpose wobbly E5s, bouncingour sorry titties on his porch. Utter chaos. It rained so long we’d forgottenbare, sun-smooched bellies, cara caraoranges rung