Contrails | Stephanie Pushaw


Our compasses fail us again and again, leading us along the wrong magnetic fields, yet we sail still through quiet seas under the false mathematics of north.  What the frontier means. Not conquering. Not masculinity, not like



A dress on a body with a face that breaks into a smile like mine. My little stick figure boy. My son, hot-headed in the yellow sun. Fum-ing at the tips of your fingers

Gym Music | Shea Handa


1 Where else can you watch a bicep shakelike water trembling above a cup’s lip, or help lift weight from a stranger’s chest,watch him rise from a bench, and, with one look,

Safar | Meetra Javed


For my beloved, / A. You get me through, / B. to get me through. / A. Sahib; A Companion. / B. Safar; A Journey. / There are certain places I can't

Bite | by Anne Strand


She bites and chews and gnaws. She is so focused on the tiny words in her textbook. Then she clamps down on the pen cap so hard that it snaps in half.

On the Essay Collection

by Mike Coakley For some time now, I’ve been hungrily purchasing essay collections. I used to avoid them; when an undergraduate professor of mine assigned pieces from Philip Lopate’s The Art of

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