Issue 2.1 Ruth Foley

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…”

Form-Fall by Marco Wilkinson
“A tree evaporates into the universe and falls back to earth: timber to paper to coffee cup to compost to dirt.”

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…”

Ruth Foley



For once, I am not thinking of a place
so much as of not-here, not where
we stutter like a knotted thread through
cloth until we stop fast. What holds
us is a temporary weave at best. I know
that now. I am anchored in. I risk
cracking in the center or breaking
in half. It comes with the territory—
so frequent, so necessary. The things
we need the most are most often
dropped. I could be lost, could be
replaced with something from a card,
something the right size. Just find
the cobbled nexus where I used to
stand and slot the new one in. (I’m
sorry. I know you’re thinking of
the difficulties.) I could slip between
the floorboards or roll along my
edge. I could come to rest in a corner.
You will never even know I’m here.

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