by Ambika Thompson
Vivek Shraya is a poet, short story weaver, singer songwriter, filmmaker and was our February Guest Writer. She let us publish her poem Saraswati from her forthcoming collection even this page is white, and she was also nice enough to let us interview her. Continue Reading
by Amanda Stevens
She had never noticed the gaslight lantern sitting on a small table in the foyer adjacent to the connecting sitting room. No, not that she had never noticed it, but she had taken it for granted, ignored it as people ignore their own heartbeat—just another tool expected to work. But this night she did notice the gaslight; the way it made creeping shadows jump up and down in the neighboring candlelit sitting room. Continue Reading
by Daniel M. Shapiro
They invite you to a variety show. You’re overcome with admiration as you watch everyone warm up: fire eaters’ unlit run-throughs, jugglers’ tosses of turned-off chainsaws. Stay back stage, they say. As a White Swan pas de deux ends, they say, Now it’s your turn, push you onto the stage. Continue Reading
by Amanda Mandala
We undressed and folded each layer neatly by the back of my mattress, which would soon become the front. She wore dark hair and a black Kung fu shirt and I wore light hair and a white tennis skirt. Neither of us practiced any of these sports. But hey, we looked like yin and yang today! And yesterday we did, too! Tomorrow I will leave you in an equally meaningful manner!
Continue Reading
by J Ryan Hibbett
Do watch your step—
centuries of ground freeze
pushed the cobblestones
loose like baby teeth. Continue Reading
by Vivek Shraya
words can i trust you to say what
words have struggled to say Continue Reading
by Megan Crosbie
He bites off her face first (it’s best that way.) It’s oily, pock scarred and chewy. Her thick-framed glasses jar awkwardly in his throat. Despite smelling like coconut, her hair taste’s sadly plain. Continue Reading
by Nicole Rollender
By holding up divining rods as their wings move mountains. By moonlight.
By burying a desiccated starling, pressing on its still-trumpeting heart. Continue Reading
by Anna Keeler
My memories of Genesis always seemed so treacherous until we were sitting face to face. The years of bitterness and anger between us didn’t just vanish, it was as if they’d never existed in the first place. Her lips would curl in that pout that wasn’t quite a grin, the light would shine in her eyes, and the breath that always caught for me would involuntarily let itself stay paralyzed in her throat, reminding her that even though she was rid of me, I wasn’t out of her system just yet. Continue Reading
by Dustin Pearson
There’s this kid down the street. All us boys call him Braxton.
He’s bigger than us, looks like some of the men
we’ve seen walking around, pants low-hanging
and broad shoulders, a chain around his neck, Continue Reading