• 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

  • Sandra Kolankiewicz ~ Why Don’t You Try

    Why don’t you try to be me and see how
    it goes? I’ll take the dull brown hair and the
    split floor plan if you’ll go danc­ing. Are there
    oth­er kinds of Ecstasy? I’ll stand in

    your back yard at dawn, the sky red above
    the dis­tant stacks of –more

  • Kathleen Hellen ~ Two poems

    cowgirl in the underworld

    I dri­ve due east with wolf-song and the night­jar. Drive
    under the big steel wings of wind farms, past
    roads named after ranch­es, after Methodists. Past
    fur­rowed fields that mark the miles in siloes. Fields
    that used to glint –more

  • Kathleen Rooney ~ Poems

    The Moon is the Moon Whether We Call it That or Not

    Your phone is a por­tal, a por­tal to Hell. Look up. Get slapped in the face by the moon.

    With a mass about 1/80th the size of the earth, the moon expos­es its but­tocks to the crowd.

    Wiser to nature, humans of the past bestowed each month’s full moon –more

  • Lynn Bey ~ Face Forward

    When the bike mes­sen­ger on his bike was speck-small in our sight, Headmaster said nev­er mind our after­noon lessons.

    Follow me,” he no-non­sense bossed, and all the way along the path, past the goat pen and the shed for the hoes and spades and oth­er –more

  • Max Roland Ekstrom ~ Five Poems

    Taxidermy Rug

    Atop a pile of base­ment boxes
    the black fur drapes in repose
    as its jaws widen with ivory canines
    and a ramp of pink tongue lead­ing nowhere—
    cold eyes gaze across the stiff licorice
    snout of a pre­cious teddy.
    The –more

  • Simon A. Smith ~The Cigarettes of my Youth

    I

    In high school, after I ran my mouth too much and Ronnie Bosman dropped me with one ham­mer punch to the face. I remem­ber that when I came to my best friend, Lance, was already say­ing some­thing about how it wasn’t that bad and nobody would remem­ber –more

  • Meg Pokrass ~ The Plank

    It was wet and cold and mis­er­able, and his dog was fat. Fatter than yes­ter­day. Nobody need­ed a tele­scope to see how the dog was overfed, his snout buried in his own neck.

    The cap­tain, bit­ing on his pipe, asked her to take off her bon­net. She removed –more

  • Meg Tuite ~ Why the Peach Tree Before Dad?

    The peach tree lives for how many years and one day it keels over with the wind. Last year there were peach­es. This year it can’t hold its weight. So we have to tear it apart so we can burn it. When did it start to dimin­ish and crack? Does every –more

  • Chella Courington ~ Plastic Hearts

    At fif­teen Anne bought her first action figure—Wonder Woman. When she saw her on tele­vi­sion in her blue star­ry shorts, legs ris­ing out of red boots, steel cuffs, and gold tiara, Anne fell hard. No girl could match the Amazonian Princess Diana who –more

  • Mercury-Marvin Sunderland ~ Spilled Bathtub Water Could Never Be Sold

    the pat­terned tiles gleam
    on bath­room floors
    spilled bath­tub water could
    nev­er be sold

    here i keep my
    aro­mas bot­tled and slathered
    for every morn­ing shower
    lath­er, lather
    my lavender

    calm, yet another
    trapped sun
    caged inside
    a paper –more