Forked Roads by John Francis Istel
“How many candles do you see? Mother? How many? Can you see how many? Sit up.“
Waking by Karin C. Davidson
“‘Sleep, sleep, sleep,’ my mother says. But I cannot help thinking about waking the next morning.”
The Box by Greg Bottoms
“Danny Glover—a fourteen-year-old white kid from Smithfield, Virginia, not the actor from…”
Swept by Emily Vizzo
“Startling, this body-bump of asterisks finding its way…“
Sea Lion by Emily Vizzo
“The stink of him came to me first, a salty hit of kelp…“
Mario’s Grocery Has No Cameras by Chris Mink
“In lane twelve a young mother wearing…“
During the Tornado, I’m Thinking of Stars by Sara Henning
“They’re calling them sisters, funnels grafted…“
The Dead Wait on the Living to Go on Living by Kim Garcia
“The chairs wide-mouthed and silent in each others’ presence…“
Mountain Aubade by Kim Garcia
“Inside a blue-cupped palm, yellow tipped mountain, wild dogwood, pine…“
Mending by Ruth Foley
“For once, I am not thinking of a place…”
Doubt is the angel of our time by Ruth Foley
“Of any time, I’d wager—any movement…“
Cleansing Flights by Ruth Foley
“The temporary unfurling of the rhododendron…“
Pitcher by Will Cordeiro
“I’m such a flirt…“
Wild Horse / Wild Deer by John Casteen
“Deep beneath the night, its lidded vault of stars…”
Figure by John Casteen
“As in, cuts an elegant…”
I Saw You by JC Bouchard
“I saw you on the roundabout…”
I Saw You
I saw you on the roundabout a burden’s squirm
an apple perched on the peak of a hip bone
in the garbage heap. You did not catch my eye
but I caught your cold
cut out of the eye of your snake’s
skin. Jacket crumbled on a chair. If scarves are
what make you swoon look at my open palms.
I said I would
smash the ukulele compressed in the folds of a moleskin.
I saw you
cross out the last corpse in a group of four sticks in the fog.
Your greasy breath on the mirror. What?
Don’t look at my hands they are too small
even for the ashtray. I came here for you. God
you looked like a mountain range conquered by fear.
I caught your eyes in a fish bowl a stereo stuffed in a garbage bin
a bee caught under your tongue. Humming
a dead horse in the bends of your elbows.
Let’s obsess a little.
Trapped you in a stage light my memory is the crowbar.
Saw you on a flowerbed keeping signature
with lightning bolts. I had a dream
we would meet sometime soon but never like this.
Buried you in my chest as if closeness makes the storm’s
night wilting branches in a storm. What?
You caught my eyes and I caught you a vixen ensnared
in a stage curtain. Help me keep that
collage of you scraping your knees on the bottom
of the woodshed. The scarf is long now.
I’ll see you tomorrow just give me one chance to burn
in winter’s discarded scraps.