Clearing Out My Mother’s Home // Rohan Buettel
The bowl perfectly new
in a cupboard full of things unused,
bought in anticipation
of a grandchild never delivered
Art // Terry Jude Miller
that’s one of the things it does
makes you think one thing
that leads to another thing
and soon the meadow is full
God Seems Smaller than the Sun // Kalie Johnson
The first time I saw the moon was in my father’s fingernails, the soft crescent hills of calico calcium reflecting the moon I later threw rocks at. I found my guilt in his fingertips.
Screamer // Julian George
Rubbing his mitts and clearing his throat, he warmed up with a few mi-mi-mis, the Caruso of Camp Bowie Boulevard. Finally, a truck rumbled past; he let out a scream. Not a soul heard him.
While You Were Away // Erin Olds
and sometimes I got cozy in a cold shower, afraid
of the air outside waiting to wrap around wet skin. And after,
I’d leave the lights on each night. You weren’t home,
and I would think, safe is a pretty term, a feeling to dream.
She Has Notifications Silenced // Will Neuenfeldt
She Has Notifications Silenced
One purple crescent
sent into sky
where my blue cloud
wafts above, alone,
aware it’s been seen
yet lingers to be heard.
Do Not Resuscitate // Ashleigh Rajala
Nurses and doctors in hospices reported the terminally ill just suddenly feeling better. Emergency rooms had no more casualties. Heart attacks, car accidents, anything. They still happened, but everyone survived.
Jaguar, but Pronounce the “U” // Adrian Kennedy
How could we be so different than a velociraptor
if not even worse
eating our savior
stop
don’t think of it that way.
To Know Everything (on the Camino de Santiago): A Story of Connection // Eliza Hayse
We sit quietly, the stone wall cool, the chapel shadow leaning left in front of us. We eat around the dark bruises in the white flesh. You take the pit out of your nectarine and place it between us, like an offering to the God we mock.
Ode to Boy in Nightclub // Zoe Antoine-Paul
All I want is to keep you,
but you are still on the dance floor
and New York City feels like coming down.
Redheaded Angel // Wendy K. Mages
I stare at the message. It says: Doofus Howser just walked in…
In my hyper-focused, hypervigilant state, this antithetical autocorrect strikes me as hilariously funny.
The Duality of Homes // Madison Summerville
My mother throws the casserole in the oven after adding expiring ingredients and vegetables to the beat of raucous drums playing in the background. When the casserole finishes cooking, we all grab plates and serve ourselves. Sitting in the living room with the television playing a crude adult animated series, we eat.
Boardwalk Soda Fountain Shop // LindaAnn Loschiavo
I watched as you’d extend a palm beneath
A ripe banana, tenderly, as if
To ask permission. Or you’d let me tuck
Wildflowers into cleavage held aloft,
Slick, sweaty, suntan oiled, flecked with sand crumbs.
Trickle Back, Sad Sack // Lisa Piazza
Rae was a gray woman, then. Shadow-self. Seldom-felt. Gray night, gray sight. Out the window now she imagines the clouds form a window. A door. She could walk through it if she believed there was anything on the other side.
Raised by Wolves // Travis Stephens
I shiver, understand as always
my teeth rotted and dull.
Even my father, that son of a bitch,
kept his bite until the end.
After the Relapse // Cat Dixon
I will never know the zaftig bosom of a mother during a fever, incessant nag, the body swap, the unconditional love. We both lacked what we both lacked—both pulled into a whirlpool
Avocados // Tana Buoy
Avocados
The blade presses against the first, and the insides give way before the leather skin does. Same with the other two. My throat constricts. Shaking, I drop the knife onto the counter, pick up the avocados and press them between my hands, a non-bright green mush oozing from between my fingers, shedding their suits and seeds in my fists. You were in remission.
French Impressionists // Matthew Ellis
French Impressionists
I’ll plunge into the Loing or the Seine itself,
into ultramarine and cobalt blue
I’ll wade into the waters of Giverny,
lie amongst the water lilies
madder red and cadmium yellow against emerald,
violet waters
No Reason to Get Up but Get Up // Yvonne Morris
No Reason to Get Up but Get Up
hallowed and hollowed, richly bred for pain—
Anne and Sylvia shared a New York taxi in the rain,
discussed therapy and where they’d left their latest
lipstick stains.
Scene(s) from a Chain Restaurant in Papillion, Nebraska // Zach Benak
Scene(s) from a Chain Restaurant in Papillion, Nebraska
I’d balance my feelings when openly flirting with the girl I’d pined after my entire junior year, while secretly hoping the hot male lifeguard I worked with would show up and notice me, catching adrenaline as I negotiated who I was in public with what I longed for in private.