• Alex Aldred ~ Two Poems

    Waterside Theatre

    Having washed up in London – the East End,
    maybe, some­where between the ancient City
    and the Thames at any rate – I became fix­at­ed
    on cer­tain details that described the state
    of the whole place, and my rela­tion­ship to it.

    Take maps of the under­ground; –more

  • Kirila Cvetkovska ~ Falling Teeth

    The day had no end. Her bed was a uni­verse engulfed with many oceans and com­bat­ive tidal flows. She could swim, prac­tice breath­ing or just float.

    K. opened her eyes and noticed the strong sun­light in the room. She didn’t want to open the cur­tains –more

  • Jenny Fried ~ Grandmother in Blue

    My grand­moth­er is made from feath­ers, pho­to clip­pings and pet­ri­fied wood. Keeps a cac­tus in my aunt’s house, bleeds dust in the door. My grand­moth­er buried, she walks on all fours, long claws obscured in sand and in salt. Sharp paint­ed frag­ments –more

  • Visitor

  • Diane Webster ~ Two Poems

    Cane Hung

    Wooden cane hung
    on wood­en fence –
    old man had to blow
    his nose, need­ed
    two hands for the job.
    If he crooked his cane
    across his elbow,
    it would tum­ble
    to the ground, dis­tant ground
    where he’d –more

  • George Singleton ~ Protecting Witnesses and Witnessing Protection

    I left the front door to dis­cov­er what end­ed up being a 1944 John Deere B trac­tor parked in the grav­el dri­ve­way. Not that Im a trac­tor guy. Im not a farm imple­ment, –more

  • Dog Cavanaugh ~ Riding in Happiness

    She used her old Brownie cam­era on us. Something was won­der­ful that I didn’t under­stand. The cam­era had been in her fam­i­ly since the 1930s. I’d nev­er seen my moth­er look com­fort­able with com­pli­cat­ed con­trap­tions. But that day she had per­fect –more

  • Nikki Ervice ~ Smoke Break

    Did I ever tell you about the time I did mush­rooms at Disney World? It was actu­al­ly pret­ty bor­ing. Alex is exam­in­ing his nail beds under a curl of cig­a­rette smoke. It’s easy to play­act matu­ri­ty out here as the day seeps beneath –more

  • Bennie Rosa ~ Micro Boy Never Loved Christina

    It ain’t what they call you; it’s what you answer to.” ― W.C. Fields

    We might deny it, but most of us don’t like who we are. Maybe we pre­tend we’re some­one else. Maybe we don’t know, or, maybe we just don’t care.  Take me for instance. –more

  • Pavle Radonic ~ Threesome


    Guy usu­al­ly gave the big “Nigerian” Tamil pra­ta-mak­er at Har Yasin a lit­tle rab­bit-chop­ping mas­sage when he came in for take-out. Two-three minute vig­or­ous ham­mer made the fel­low gri­mace, but easy to tell he was the bet­ter for it. –more

  • Keezi Walks ~ Walking in Varanasi

    If you haven’t watched this on YouTube, you should start now. Wonderful hour on the streets of Varanasi, India. Beautifully detailed doc­u­men­tary, and the film­mak­er has many these on YouTube. Has his own chan­nel called keezi walks. Absolutely thrilling. –more

  • Flash Flood ~ Kimberly Nicole

    Rain pelt­ed the win­dow as I sipped my man­go smooth­ie, feel­ing home­sick for Seattle, where the skies are always gray and rainy.

    Seattle tap water is deli­cious. It tastes best if you forego a cup and drink straight from the faucet. I drink –more

  • Ruby Sales ~ From my front porch 8/12/20

    This mag­ic moment is made for democ­ra­cy. It gave White America anoth­er chance to do right by Black women and legit­imize their claim of democ­ra­cy. Additionally I would be remiss if I failed to acknowl­edge that this is a tran­scen­dent moment that hon­ors –more

  • Dorsía Smith Silva ~ Four Poems

    In Memory of the Blue Girl Sahar Khodayari

    it is not a dou­ble-dog dare
    to see this wide-eyed world anchored by
    hat tricks between men in Iran
    the bright blue branched wig and ochre over­coat can­not
    shield your hushed hur­ry
    you criss­cross the arena’s entrance

  • Marisa P. Clark ~ Four Poems


    Say there’s an acci­dent, a wreck I’m in
    but didn’t cause. Say I hit my head, hard,
    and see a blind­ing baf­fle­ment of stars
    I can’t blink away. Say I try to stand
    but dizzi­ness sits me back down. I wait
    wob­bling –more