• Claire Hopple ~ Float


    She dri­ves past the house a third time. She wants to be a nat­ur­al. The blinds are clos­ing. Maybe that’s enough for today.


    The rumor starts out with flamin­gos. The zoo is near­by, and since their clipped wings grow back, it’s com­mon­place for them to flee and get away with it.

    But it turns out a macaw had slunk out of his cage and latched onto a Westfalia’s bumper, fresh­ly aslop –more

  • Of Interest — Police

    Of Interest is a recur­ring post link­ing to things of inter­est.

    About the police at VOX

  • Pavle Radonic ~ Recusant

    Breakfast, Lunch & Dinner

    Niqab woman arriv­ing late for break­fast was one of the teach­ers of a small group of mid-teens. Four girls sat at an adja­cent table and a half dozen oth­ers sep­a­rat­ing them­selves down at low­er ground. A madrasa excur­sion per­haps, though these were not of the low­er class poor. Traditionally many poor fam­i­lies sent daugh­ters to a madrasa at least in part to relieve the bur­den at home. These were mid­dle-class –more

  • Akinwale Peace Akindayo — Two Poems

    My Mother Mourns my Step-grand­moth­er

    My step-grand­moth­er laid on the porch
    An eagled spread below the sky
    Her flail­ing. Body only a con­tain­er of the soul.
    Her body only a con­tain­er of can­cer.
    You have been old since I knew you.

    I crum­bled in prayers, step-grand­moth­er,
    I prayed in your tongue.
    Let your grave know I want­ed to save you.

    But step-grand­moth­er allows us this grief –more

  • C. G. Rusch ~ The Man Who Buried His Dogs in the Front Yard

    It’s a long stretch speed­ing down the high­way from Atlanta to New Orleans, and most every­one dozes off. But the moon is just right, and for a moment, through the gums and elms and oaks and dog­woods of the road­side for­est tonight, a dwelling stands alone, its perime­ter out­lined with glow­ing col­ors. White lights and blue lights and red lights and yel­low. In the house lives a man who believes with –more

  • Glen Pourciau ~ Two Shorts


    We’d reached a turn­ing point. We didn’t want to tell our friend Cynthia what we thought of her choice of hus­bands, and we didn’t want to ask her what she saw in brawny reac­tionary types. What did her three choic­es of hus­bands have to do with us? It would have been more pleas­ant social­ly if we could have tol­er­at­ed any of her hus­bands’ com­pa­ny, and the way things had stood for many years was –more

  • Mandira Pattnaik ~ Rubble

    I  lost my good mood at the store tonight. That was after I lost my job at the hair­dressers, where I hadn’t  lost my good mood because it was not unex­pect­ed that Sheryl, the girl with the pout, would replace me (she was faster and sassier). And that was also after I lost my boyfriend Danish to my best friend but that hadn’t affect­ed me either because I was hap­py for my best friend (who –more

  • Kelly Brown Douglas in Sojourners

  • Ruby Sales ~ From My Front Porch

    Friends receive this shar­ing of my sto­ry with the love that is intend­ed. My sto­ry: A south­ern Black wom­an’s narrative/autobiographical song


    Nancy and I dri­ve the New Jersey Turnpike on our way to New York. I am com­pelled to New York by Audre Lorde’s death, June Jordan’s sick­ness and Adrian Felton’s dying. I am adult tired and need to be replen­ished by the joys, mem­o­ries and warmth of my –more

  • Kerri Quinn ~ Two Poems


    We’re sup­posed to be
    tak­ing a break.
    But we meet for din­ner
    and I take you back
    to my sub­let
    push you down on the couch.
    We’re sur­round­ed by pho­tos
    of peo­ple I don’t know.
    Their smiles fake.
    We kiss
    slow­ly, deeply.
    You slip my dress off so quick­ly
    I don’t real­ize I am naked.
    Your –more

  • Lucinda Kempe ~ Rupture

    A white sand heron fell onto our prop­er­ty. I thought it was a stray garbage bag caught in the brush until my hus­band said oth­er­wise. It was beau­ty in death. Almost appeared still fly­ing. With long yel­low beak and green half-closed eye it appeared to have flown off an ancient Egyptian tomb.

    There was no sign of a wound. Not a scab, a tear or a drop of red blood. Just a downed bird on the wing of the –more

  • Eleanor Levine ~ The Creek and the Whirlpool

    I keep check­ing Facebook, to see if she has read my emails, react­ed to my paint­ings, shown that sweet­ness that comes so rarely, but when it does, it’s like the jew­el of her smirk and lips and yet there are no words.

    I need to block her. Let the addic­tion end. The hero­in or meth vibe has me recur­rent­ly going on the com­put­er and the Facebook den of iniq­ui­ty to see if she has breathed, even writ­ten –more

  • Clifton Chenier from the Les Blank film.

  • Wilson Koewing ~ Beach, Ball

    The weath­er on the Carolina coast had been strange; a result of trop­i­cal depres­sion rem­nants. The sky cleared on a Thursday and the beach­es filled. I stubbed out a Spirit and popped the top on a new beer. Down the beach, a tod­dler walked toward the ocean hold­ing a beach ball over his head with both hands. A wave knocked him over and sent the beach ball sail­ing for­ward. The wind took it out to –more

  • To our readers & writers

    In a shift of policy & concept, we are hoping to expand our little operation to include all kinds of content — fiction, poetry, music, art, photographs, nonfiction, interviews, asides, short reports, journalism, opinion, whatev. Thus we invite contributors to send to us any such material at the Submissions link above. We will look at everything and publish what we can.