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
Read More
* * * * * * * * * * Each morning before breakfast my grandfather walked to the edge of the yard to raise the flag, to fly its colors near the heavens. My job was to hold the hard pack of
Accumulated through the season, like black exhauston white snow, winter cruelties linger—a dirtyepidermal merengue sealing in all that wouldotherwise melt within us; the closing of the bellowsthat precedes the closing case. We
When I wear sunglasses all day, I forget what the world actually looks like There is a pool with an ocean view. Chlorine mixes with beachmusk and sunblock and hotdogs.Metal grating digs
To think there is such a thingas a good dayis to neglect the sun’s eternal indifferenceto the clouds and fogthat bottle it up invisibleand block its raysfrom reaching our foreheads. What kindof
the newspaper boy once told melove is loud. scream three times each day, and someone will at least feed you: sugar-snap peas thrown, showeringlike hail, macadamia nutsscattered like words, even safflower seeds sprinkling the nest of
(Where neither photography nor sketching were allowed) I. The freighted thud of a rock hitting an ice sheeted pond. No crack. White shavings lay in the sundry mud and leaves thrown off
Spring Breakers (Dir. Harmony Korine, 2013) Poetry is a place. The world puts you in your place. History dictates the pattern, dead as Saturn’s rings. The world puts you in an orbit from which
Because her local news was buzzing in the background of the phone call. Because the voicesof the anchors wavered as the tally ticked & skipped from double to triple digits while we
The hunger to forget, a flockof questions, a flight of memories.Finishing my life might look like thesephotographs my mother sent me,annotated in her shaky hand with names,leaves that will outlive us all.
Food i can’t eat: Sesame seeds Drumstickchicken All the seasons and the change in climate Clawed chestrising and crumbling Smothered in a bed of mole The moldgrowing on a Cold San Francisco