• S.S. Mandani ~ This Is a Stickup Story

    Twenty-two grams in. Thirty-four grams out.

    Shot for shot for shot.

    I tweak the dial, get­ting close to the per­fect grind.

    This ain’t no mocha hut. Man, this is a legit cof­fee shop,” yells the barista from the morn­ing shift. He’s con­vinc­ing him­self –more

  • Kip Knott ~ Outswimming Monsters

    Long before Callum ever took his first step into the murky waters of Loch Ness, he knew what lurked below. Callum’s moth­er had always been fas­ci­nat­ed with the idea of undis­cov­ered crea­tures liv­ing among us. And because of her proud Scottish her­itage, –more

  • Timothy Boudreau ~ We Dream, We See Dragonflies

    Green & Blue

    Two insects thin-limbed as grasshop­pers with but­ter­fly wings, one spring­time green, one fairy­tale blue, flut­ter, flick­er, land on your fin­gers in the sun-spilled kitchen. You stand beside the win­dow with the insects on your fin­gers. –more

  • Pat Foran ~ Engelbert Humperdinck

    On a Wednesday morn­ing in the loop that is this world with­out end, Engelbert Humperdinck cuts him­self shav­ing. Above the Adam’s Apple.

    I bleed, he says to the mir­ror as the trick­le makes its way to the notch of his neck. Who knew?

    The TV voice from –more

  • Nora McGann ~ My Own Grandmother’s Funeral

    When my own grand­moth­er died I went on vaca­tion in Florida. But when your grand­moth­er died I went to her funer­al. I didn’t real­ly know my own grand­moth­er, nor did I know yours that well. But I –more

  • Nancy Byrne Iannucci ~ Cavorarell

    When I was a lit­tle girl my father took me back
    to his home­land, a lit­tle vil­lage in Italy high on
    a moun­tain­top called Durazzano. Guarda tutte
    le arance! my father said, as we snaked up the
    moun­tain in what –more

  • Diane Webster ~ Four Poems

    Into the Whole

    During moon­light pond toughens
    against freez­ing temperatures
    until morn­ing sun caress­es softness
    from sur­face, and ducks paddle
    paths across slush
    like jet streaks span­ning blue sky
    until each dis­si­pates into whole.



    Grasshopper clings
    to my car’s –more

  • Kathryn Kulpa ~ Fire Season

    Kristy’s moth­er bought the super­mar­ket check­out mag­a­zines, the ones you’d pick up, maybe, if the line was mov­ing slow­ly enough. Top 10 Tips to Get Summer Skinny!, they would say, or some ancient scan­dal with Elvis or Marilyn Monroe and NOW IT CAN –more

  • Niamh McNally ~ A Devastating Scene

    Did you watch that wal­rus scene, on screen?
    Plummeting to their deaths
    A tragedy of bod­ies piled
    at the base of an 80-foot cliff.
    Tusks punc­ture blubber
    ivory impales backs. Bellies. Eyes.

  • Yuki Fuwa ~ So Eagerly Awaiting

    Translated by Toshiya Kamei

    Oh, how cursed am I in love?” My neck stretch­es like a rub­ber band. My head snakes through moon­lit autumn air toward your win­dow. Beyond the screen door, you lie asleep beside your wife. Her serene coun­te­nance makes –more

  • Claudia Lundahl ~ Listening to Erasure in a Jewelry Booth on the Bowery

    My friend Benny owns a jew­el­ry booth on the Bowery, deep into Chinatown, near the bridge. Well, his father owns the booth but Benny works there and some­day it will be his so I guess he kind of owns it. Benny’s in his late for­ties. I met him when –more

  • Benjamin Sloan ~ Sardine

    In Altbau build­ings, the wood­en floors creak. They’ve been creak­ing for hun­dreds of years. Boots made them creak; heels, pat­ters of paws, hus­bands and wives tip­toe­ing to meet their younger loves, kids play­ing hide and seek, kids fight­ing –more

  • Julie Benesh ~ Three Dates with Harry Chapin: Story Songs

    December 14, 1977 Civic Center, Cedar Rapids Iowa: I Wanna Learn a Love Song

    L was into Harry. I wore a cham­bray den­im shirt with black vel­veteen col­lar, cuffs and stays. We held hands in the cheap seats—You can always count on the cheap seats! We –more

  • Dawn Corrigan ~ Buttons

    In 1977, I owned half a share of a but­ton col­lec­tion. My part­ner, who was also my best friend, lived in the house cat­ty­corner behind us. We’d slipped quick­ly into both rela­tion­ships, per­son­al and busi­ness, when my fam­i­ly moved to the neigh­bor­hood –more

  • Glen Pourciau ~ Pour

    Look who’s here,” a stranger says to us and pulls out a chair and sits at our table. Looks to be in his late six­ties, ball­cap with a worn bill, wire-rimmed glass­es, three-day’s sil­very growth, close-cut hair on the sides. He waves at a serv­er –more